Page 133 of Commander’s Mate

Zared sat up slowly, keeping distance between us. The sheet fell to his waist, and my body reacted like it had learned nothing from grief, caution, or basic self-preservation.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Thank you for not looking smug,” I muttered.

“I am learning.”

A laugh escaped me. Then I started crying.

No warning. No dignity. One laugh, one breath, and tears spilled over as if my body had decided emotions would now take turns randomly.

Zared reached for me, then stopped. “May I hold you?”

That made it worse.

“Yes,” I managed.

He gathered me carefully, and I cried against him again. Not as hard as before. This was not the first shattering. This was the aftershock. He held me and said nothing. His hand moved over my back in slow, steady strokes.

“I know.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I know that too.”

“I do not.”

“How?”

“Because you are holding me while you cry.”

I thought about that.

He was right.

“I need rules,” I said.

His hand paused. “Rules?”

“For me. For us. For this.” I pulled back enough to see his face. “I can’t just be swept along because your biology says I’m your mate and my body thinks you’re some kind of alien miracle. I need to know what I’m agreeing to before I agree.”

Again, too easy.

“You don’t mind?”

“I mind needing them. I do not mind giving them.”

That was honest enough to satisfy me.

I sat cross-legged on his bed, clutching the sheet around my waist even though I was wearing the shirt. He sat facing me, gloriously bare-chested and infuriatingly patient.

“Rule one,” I said. “No full mating until I say clearly that I want it.”

“Not because I’m kissing you. Not because I’m naked. Not because I’m moaning like an idiot.”

His eyes darkened.

“Zared.”