The words settled hot and heavy through the room. I stared up at him while my heartbeat absolutely betrayed me.
“And that’s bad because…”
Something possessive flashed sharply across his expression.
“Because,” he said, “when I fully make you mine, it will happen correctly.”
His thumb brushed against my waist beneath the loosened fabric of the dress while his gaze stayed locked completely onto mine.
“With my name on you,” he continued quietly. “After the mating ceremony.”
God. The intensity in his voice when he said it , made my entire chest tighten painfully. Not controlling. Certain. Like he alreadysaw a future where I belonged beside him completely and it terrified him how much he wanted it.
The realization softened something inside me before I could stop it. His expression changed after noticing. Of course it did. Then more gently this time, his hand lifted to my face.
“You deserve the choice properly,” he murmured softly. “Not because we lost control for one night.”
And there it was again. The difference. Before, he’d hidden choices from me. Now he kept placing them back in my hands no matter how badly he wanted me. That felt more intimate than half the things we’d just done.
I stared at him quietly for a second before muttering, “You’re being respectful again. It’s truly inconvenient.”
A small laugh escaped him softly. Real this time. Warm enough that it made my stomach twist embarrassingly. Then finally he stepped back slightly before helping me sit upright properly against the edge of the bed.
The room was completely destroyed now. My hair was messy. His coat wrinkled. The dress half loosened around my shoulders. And seeing the damage made heat rise right back into my face again. My demon noticed my changes.
“You’re blushing.”
“No I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“That sounds fictional.”
The corner of his mouth lifted again before he moved behind me quietly. Then carefully,much softer now,he started fastening theloosened clasps along the back of my dress again. The contrast nearly killed me.
Minutes ago his hands were gripping my thighs hard enough to make me dizzy. Now he was fixing my clothes like something precious. The gentleness felt worse. His fingers brushed lightly against my back while silver fire crackled softly through the room around us.
Neither of us spoke for a few seconds. Then quietly behind me, he admitted: “You have made me pathetically possessive."
Our eyes met in the mirror. “That sounds unhealthy.”
“It is deeply unhealthy.”
“That’s fair.”
The final clasp closed softly beneath his fingers before he smoothed one hand down my arm afterward like he couldn’t quite stop touching me yet. Honestly? I understood the feeling. Then he reached beside the bed, picked up my shoes, and crouched in front of me without a word.
I blinked once.
“…What are you doing?”
“You are not walking barefoot through the palace after what just happened in this room.”
“That sentence sounded threatening.”
“It was.”
But despite the calm answer, he still carefully slipped the shoes back onto my feet one by one with slow deliberate movements that made my chest ache unexpectedly. It felt too domestic. Way too domestic.
