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My pulse is still too fast. I can feel it in my throat. He holds my face and waits. Very gradually, my breathing starts to follow his.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says, when I’m present enough to hear him. “Not your body. Not your gratitude. Not a single thing. Whatever you give me, you give because you want to. Do you understand?”

I nod. I don’t trust my voice.

But I wanted to. That’s the thing he doesn’t understand. I wanted to get on my knees for him, for me, for us, not just because I thought I had to. But I don’t know how to say that without making everything worse.

“I’m sorry,” I manage. “I didn’t know that there was another way things could go.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me properly.

“Printsessa, you don’t ever say sorry to me for things that kusok der’ma made you believe.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that. He just pulls me deep into his arms. My face is pressed into his bare chest, and his chin is resting on top of my head. His heart beats steadily under my cheek. I become aware of small things: the scent of coffee, the smell of his skin, and the rain starting to patter against the windows.

My hands unclench from where they’ve been balled against his chest.

“I haven’t done this before,” he says into my hair. “Being close to someone like this. I don’t know how to do it right.”

“Neither do I,” I whisper.

His arms tighten around me. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

I nod against his chest.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head.

Eventually, I turn my face up to look at him.

“Can I…” I trail off. My face is already warm. “What I tried to do before. Not because I owe you anything.” I make myself hold his gaze even though every instinct is telling me to look at the floor. “Because I actually want to.”

His lips part, and his eyes darken instantly as he looks down at me. “Then I’m yours.”

My gaze travels over his hard jaw, the broad lines of his shoulders, and the hard muscles of his chest. The way his waist narrows, and the hard line of his hip bones disappear below his belt.

Sheer male perfection.

All mine.

I start at his throat, rising up on my toes and pressing my lips to the ink there. His pulse jumps under my mouth. His hands rest lightly at my waist. I take my time, working my way down his collarbone, over the stars inked on his chest, and down the snake. He holds very still and lets me learn him.

I move lower. His stomach tightens under my mouth, each muscle drawn sharp. I feel his breathing change, becoming unsteady.

I sink to my knees in front of him, and this time he doesn’t stop me.

I look up at him from the floor, and the expression on his face makes heat bloom low in my belly. Wanting me. Entranced by me.

I undo his belt. His trousers. I pull them down along with his boxer briefs. He toes out of his shoes and socks and then he’s standing naked before me.

His cock is hard and heavy, with a thick vein starting at the root and traveling almost to the swollen head.

I take him in my hands and give him a gentle squeeze, spreading the precum beading at the tip with my thumb. He groans. With one hand pressed flat against his stomach, I feel the hard ridge of muscle quiver.

I lick up the length of him slowly, just once, and the intense reaction from him makes me preen.

“You taste good,” I whisper.

“Do I?” His voice has dropped to something low and rough. He reaches down and pushes his fingers into my hair, clenching once and releasing. “I know my printsessa likes it sweet. Open up.”