Page 22 of The Demon’s Little Girl

ROVAK

M oonlight casts silver shadows across stone path as Liora stalks toward me, amber eyes dark with want as she presses her body against mine. No fleeing, no second-guessing—just Liora, warm and willing in my arms. And I'm aching for her.

"I need you," she whispers against my throat, her breath hot against my skin. Her hands work at the clasps of my shirt with desperate fingers, and I let her strip it away, my own hands mapping the curves I've memorized from stolen glances over the years.

When she straddles me on the stone bench, there are no clothes between us.

Just skin against skin, her softness yielding to my hardness as she positions herself above me.

The feel of her—wet and ready, taking me in slowly until I'm buried completely inside her heat—nearly unmakes me before we've even begun.

"Rovak," she moans my name like a prayer as she begins to move, her hips rolling in perfect rhythm. Every slide of her body against mine sends fire through my veins, and I grip her hips to guide her movements, watching her face transform with pleasure in the moonlight.

She's magnificent like this—head thrown back, breasts bouncing with each movement, completely lost in the sensation of us together. When I thrust up to meet her downward movements, she cries out, her inner walls clenching around me in ways that make rational thought impossible.

I want to flip her over, drive into her with the desperate hunger that's been eating at me for years.

Want to taste every inch of her skin, mark her as mine in ways that leave no doubt about who she belongs to.

In the dream, she reads my mind, pulling me down for a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and desperate need.

"Take me," she breathes against my lips. "However you want me. I'm yours."

The words shatter what's left of my control.

I lift her, carrying her to the soft grass by the fountain where I can spread her beneath me properly.

Her legs wrap around my waist as I sink into her again, deeper this time, claiming her with long, powerful strokes that make her arch and moan beneath me.

The way her nails dig into my shoulders as I move inside her, the broken sounds she makes when I find that perfect angle that has her gasping my name like a chant, it's all so perfect.

"More," she demands, her hips rising to meet each thrust. "Harder."

I give her what she's asking for, driving into her with the intensity I've kept leashed for so long. She takes everything I offer and demands more, matching my desperation with her own until we're both lost in the rhythm of claiming and being claimed.

When she comes apart beneath me, her body arching as pleasure tears through her, the sight and sound and feel of her climax triggers my own. I spill inside her with a roar that echoes off the garden walls, marking her as mine in the most primal way possible.

I wake with a strangled gasp, my body slick with sweat and achingly hard beneath the sheets. The phantom sensation of her around me lingers for torturous seconds before reality crashes back, leaving me alone in my bed with nothing but the taste of impossible dreams.

Fuck.

I scrub my hands over my face, trying to banish the vivid images still playing behind my eyelids. The way she'd moved against me, the sounds she'd made, the feel of being buried deep inside her heat—all of it felt real enough to leave me shaking with want.

But it wasn't real. And that kiss in the garden, the way she'd climaxed in my arms before fleeing—that only made everything more complicated. Because now I know she wants this too, but I also know how quickly she can pull away. How easily I could lose her again if I push too hard, too fast.

There are still secrets between us, still pieces of her story I don't understand.

She won't tell me why she left, won't explain where she's been or who Nalla's father is.

And until she trusts me with those truths, until I know she's choosing me freely and not out of obligation or fear, I can't pursue this the way every instinct is screaming at me to do.

The cold reality settles over me like ice water. I want her with a desperation that's becoming harder to hide, but wanting isn't enough. Not when she could disappear again at the first sign of pressure. Not when I still don't understand what drove her away in the first place.

I force myself out of bed, heading for the basin to splash cold water on my face and get control over my traitorous body.

Dawn is already painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold, which means breakfast will be soon.

Which means seeing her again, pretending last night didn't change everything between us.

By the time I make it to the sitting room, she's already there with Nalla, cutting small pieces of fruit for the child's breakfast. She glances up when I enter, color rising in her cheeks as our eyes meet.

The awareness between us crackles like lightning, heavy with unspoken desire and the memory of her body moving against mine.

"Morning," she says quietly, focusing intently on Nalla's food.

"Morning." My voice comes out rougher than intended, still thick with sleep and dreams and want. I clear my throat, settling into my usual chair across from them.

Nalla babbles happily, reaching chubby fingers toward me in clear demand for attention. I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm, the way she lights up whenever I'm near. At least with her, things are simple. Uncomplicated affection without the weight of adult desires and fears.

"I have something for you," I tell Liora after we've eaten in relative silence, punctuated only by Nalla's cheerful chatter. "Both of you, actually."

I pull the small wrapped package from my pocket I got while I was out yesterday, setting it on the table between us. Liora eyes it warily, as if expecting it might bite her.

"You don't need to give me anything."

"It's not a gift," I say, though that's only partially true. "It's protection."

She unwraps it slowly, revealing the pendant inside.

It's a simple piece—dark obsidian carved with protective runes, hung on a delicate silver chain.

Nothing flashy or obviously valuable, but the magic woven into it is powerful enough to mask her human scent from any demon who might be hunting strays.

"What is it?" she asks, running her fingers over the smooth stone.

"Concealment charm. It'll hide your scent, make you read as demon to anyone who might be looking for unmarked humans." I keep my voice carefully neutral, not wanting to alarm her. "There's a smaller one for Nalla too."

The implications sink in immediately—she knows as well as I do what happens to humans caught without proper documentation. The fear that flashes across her face makes my chest tighten with the need to reach for her, to promise she's safe here.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll wear it." I stand, moving around the table toward her. "Here, let me."

She turns in her chair, lifting her hair so I can fasten the chain around her graceful neck.

My fingers brush against her nape as I work the clasp, and I feel the tiny shiver that runs through her at the contact.

The urge to press my lips to that sensitive spot, to taste her skin and make her gasp my name, nearly overwhelms me.

Instead, I focus on securing the pendant, making sure it lies properly against her throat. Not a collar marking her as property, but protection freely given. Safety without strings attached.

When I finish, she doesn't immediately drop her hair. Instead, she turns slowly in the chair to face me, and suddenly we're inches apart with her looking up at me through those thick lashes. The pendant rests just above the hollow of her throat, gleaming against her bronze skin.

"Thank you," she says again, softer this time. Her eyes search my face as if trying to read something there, and I find myself leaning closer without conscious thought.

This close, I can see the flecks of gold in her amber eyes, can smell the faint scent of meadowmint from her hair. Her lips part slightly, and for a moment the air between us thrums with possibility. With the memory of last night and the promise of what could be if we both stopped being so careful.

I want to kiss her. Want to cup her face in my hands and claim her mouth properly this time, without the desperate edge of uncertainty. Want to lift her onto this table and show her exactly how much she means to me, consequences be damned.

But then she turns her head away, breaking the spell, and I remember why I can't. Remember that pushing too hard, too fast, could send her running again. Could cost me the fragile trust we've been rebuilding.

I step back, creating distance before I do something we'll both regret.

Because that's what last night feels like—a regret for her. One I won't bring up or push. I'm just grateful she's here still.

"The small one is for Nalla," I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. "Same protections."

She nods, still not quite meeting my eyes. "I should get her dressed for the day."

It's another retreat, another moment of connection severed before it can fully form. But this time, I let her go without chasing. Because caring for her means respecting her boundaries, even when every instinct screams at me to claim what's mine.

Even when the wanting might just kill me.