I blink. "Okay?"
"Business school. The legitimate businesses. All of it. Okay." He pulls me into his lap. "You're right. You need your own thing. And I need to stop trying to make you fit into boxes you were never meant for."
"You mean it?"
"Yes. With conditions."
Of course there are conditions. With Saint there always is.
"What conditions?"
"You still have security. Non-negotiable. You're my wife. That makes you a target. So, you have guards. Emmanuel or someone equally competent."
I nod. I've had guards my whole life, and honestly, when left to my own devices, I haven't exactly been trustworthy. "Okay. What else?"
"You tell me where you're going. Not asking permission. Just informing. So, I don't lose my mind worrying."
"Reasonable."
"And—" He struggles with this one. "No fucking going off on your own. No more games, Gemma." He smiles at me. It's sexy and dangerous, and I can feel wetness gathering between my thighs. "Well, some games, but the ones we both like."
My nipples harden.
"I can do that." I kiss him softly. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For listening. For trying. For giving me this." I rest my forehead against his. "I know it's hard for you. To let go. To give me space. But it means everything."
"I'm still going to fuck it up. Probably a lot."
"I know. And I'm still going to get angry and push back and fight with you." I smile. "But we'll figure it out. Together."
"Together," he repeats.
Then he kisses me. Really kisses me. Not desperate. Not urgent. Slow and explorative.
When we break apart, I'm crying again. But different tears. Relief. Hope. Love.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "For going to Alexei. For betraying you. For all of it."
"I'm sorry too. For giving you to Adrian. For not protecting you. For trying to control you instead of loving you." His voice cracks. "I love you, Gemma. And I'm going to try to be better. To love you better."
"I love you too." I kiss him again. "Even when you're impossible. Even when you drive me crazy. Even when?—"
He cuts me off with another kiss. Deeper this time.
His hands are in my hair. On my skin. Gentle. Reverent.
Not taking. Asking.
I respond. Show him I want this. Want him.
We move to the bed. Clothes coming off. Slowly. No rush.
"Are you sure?" he asks. "We don't have to?—"
"I'm sure." I pull him down to me. "I want this. I want you."
