When the bowl is empty he stands. "One more thing. The most important." I go still. "You sleep with that door unlocked. Every night."
"Why?"
"Because if something happens, I need to reach you." He takes a step into my room. "That's not a threat, Jana. It's how I keep you safe."
"I want one space that's mine." The tremor in my voice surprises me. "One door I can close and know you won't come through uninvited."
"Then close it." He gestures to the connecting door. "Close it right now. I won't come through it tonight unless you invite me." His eyes hold mine. "But it stays unlocked. That's the rule."
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow we'll see how well you've learned." He's close enough to touch now, but he doesn't. Just stands there, giving me a choice that isn't really a choice. "Tonight, you get to settle in. Sleep in your own bed with that door closed and know that I'm keeping my word."
"Your word." A sharp exhale, not quite a laugh. "The word of a man who buys women."
Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of something real before it hardens again.
"I didn't buy you, milaya. You sold yourself." He lets that land. "And I paid far more than you asked because I wanted you to understand your value." He leans in, voice dropping low. "To me, you're worth everything I promised and more."
I'm backed against the window now, nowhere left to go. My pulse hammers visible in my throat.
“Close your door, Jana. Sleep in your sanctuary. See if it makes you feel safer knowing I’m on the other side, leaving you that illusion.”
He heads for the connecting door.
"Wait."
The word escapes before I can think better of it. He turns back slowly, and I can see the interest sharpening in his eyes.
I'm still pressed against the window, hands gripping the sill behind me, my heart pounding hard enough that I'm sure he can see it. "You didn't answer my question. What happens if I lock it anyway?"
He crosses the room in three strides.
The air locks in my throat as he cages me against the window—arms braced on either side of my head, body close enough that his heat reaches me but not quite touching.
"I break it down." Soft. Dangerous.
"That's—"
His mouth covers mine.
It isn't seduction. It's a warning—hard and brief and absolute, his lips pressing mine shut before I can finish the protest. I make a startled sound against him. My hands come up against his chest. He doesn't move. Just holds the kiss long enough for my body to register what's happening, long enough for heat to rush up my spine before my brain can intercept it.
Then he pulls back.
He's breathing harder than he was. So am I.
"That," he says, "is what happens when you push me."
He steps back once. Twice. Puts distance between us that his body clearly doesn't want. My lips are still burning. My hands are still raised where I'd tried to push him away and forgot to keep pushing.
"I gave you my word that tonight you'd have space." His voice is rough at the edges. "I keep my promises."
He turns toward the connecting door, every line of him taut with restraint.
"Sleep well, milaya." He doesn't look back. "Tomorrow, we begin."
He walks through the doorway and closes it behind him.
