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He groans when I jam my frozen feet between his thighs, seeking warmth for my most numb extremities. “Fuck, your feet are ice cold,” he complains, but instead of pushing them away, he shifts to envelop them more.

“Are you changing your mind about biting me now?” I blurt.

“Maybe. You’re so cold you would probably give me a tooth ache. So I guess, I will settle for a kiss.”

“A kiss?” I pull back slightly to look at his face, unsure if I’ve heard correctly. “Now you want to kiss me? You really do things out of order. You went from toying with me at the blood bank to biting me, then to kidnapping me, to violating me again, and now you want to kiss me?”

He chuckles, one hand moving to brush a strand of hair from my face. The casual intimacy of the gesture makes my stomach flip. “Well then, a kiss should be easy for you,” he retorts, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

My face heats, blood rushing to my cheeks. He’s right, logically. After everything else, a kiss should be insignificant, but after so many years of pulling away from intimacy, the fear that accompanies it isn’t easy to shake.

“You have kissed someone before, haven’t you?” he asks, his thumb brushing along my jawline, feather-light.

I glare at him before sighing. “Kinda,” I admit, and he growls, the sound vibrating through his chest where I’m pressed against him.

“Who?” he demands.

“Just another servant. We were just friends.” The memory of Arlo’s stolen kisses flash in my mind. Warm hazel eyes, my racing heart, his body against mine. His lips were on my forehead, my cheek, the very edge of my mouth. It all seems impossibly distant now, belonging to another life, another Alessia.

“Just friends?” His brow furrows in genuine confusion.

I don’t answer, mortified by my own innocence. Why did I say anything? I should have lied, claiming experience I don’t have. Somehow, I think he would have known. He seems to read my body’s responses better than I can myself.

“Madam Claudia forbade relationships on the farm. There were older married couples with families that stayed together, but the younger women were strictly separated from the men.” I don’t look at him.

“Show me this just-friends kiss,” he demands, and my brows scrunch together when I realize he’s serious.

Fine, at least it will be over and done with. I can give him this small thing, this meaningless gesture, and perhaps it will satisfy him enough to let me sleep. I lean forward and quickly peck his cheek, the briefest touch of my lips against his skin.

When I pull away I find him smiling, the expression transforming his face into something startlingly beautiful. “That’s not a kiss,” he chuckles.

“It is,” I insist, pulling back as far as his arm around me allows. “Now be quiet so I can sleep. I gave you what you wanted.”

“That’s not what I wanted, and you know it.” His voice drops lower, intimate in the small space between us. “You may be innocent, but I know you are smart enough to know that is not what I was asking for.”

His eyes hold mine, challenging and heated. He knows I’ve never been properly kissed. He knows my inexperience, my innocence, and he wants to be the one to take it from me, just as he’s taken everything else.

I should refuse, maintain this one small boundary, but his warmth surrounds me. His arm feels heavy across my waist, his thighs warm against my feet, and I don’t want to find myself back on the chaise. Underneath my fear and anger is that current again, that unwanted, unwelcome heat.

“I don’t know how,” I admit finally, the words barely audible. “Not the way you mean.”

Something flashes in his eyes. “Then let me show you,” he murmurs, his hand moving to cup my face, tilting it upward toward him.

I should turn away or push him back. I’m used to shutting down before anyone can get too close.

But I don’t.

Not even when he sits up slightly, his face hovering over mine. He holds my gaze, and just this once, I want to know what it feels like to not have to pull away.

“I don’t want to be tossed into a wall, so for the curse’s sake, do I have your permission to kiss you?”

“Now you want permission?”

He smiles wickedly. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your first kiss,” he murmurs, leaning closer, his nose bumping mine, and I forget how to breathe.

“Alessia?” He groans, his lips barely grazing mine as he speaks, his thumb brushing my cheek, and I realize he is still waiting.

My brain short-circuits briefly, and I find myself nodding, unable to form words. His lips crash against mine hungrily.