When he finally moved over me, I saw the strain in his face and understood that this was not the restraint he had been taught.
This was the restraint he had chosen.
“Astra?” he said.
“Yes?”
“Look at me.”
I did.
In the dim room, his eyes had gone mostly gray, with blue caught deep in them like light under ice.
“If this is too much…”
“Caspian.”
“Say it.”
“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to do whatever it is they’re afraid I can do to you.”
His hand tightened at my hip. His body trembled with the restraint. But still…
“If it becomes too much.”
“Caspian Ashford, I will fucking tell you.”
That convinced him.
He entered me.
So carefully I almost hated him for it, until the care became heat and the heat became pressure and my hands found his back because I needed him closer than I’d ever imagined another person could get to me.
His breath turned into a groan against my mouth.
Mine followed.
He stopped halfway, shaking.
I dug my fingers into his shoulder.
“Don’t stop because you are afraid of wanting me.”
His eyes closed for a heartbeat.
When he moved again, the careful became attention. Became his hand under my knee, opening me farther. Became his mouth at the sensitive place behind my ear and the low, ruined sound he made when I arched into him.
The Pull tightened with the next stroke, cool and sweet and merciless, dragging through my blood until his Mark burned darker and mine reached back.
I had been touched by the school for readings, for measurement, for correction.
This was not that.
This was my body and my Mark answering because I wanted it to.
Because I wanted him.
“Good boy,” I said against his mouth.
