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The thought has barely settled when he shifts against me. His hand slides between my thighs, fingers trailing over sensitive skin before he crooks them just right.

I bite back a moan as my hips jerk from the sensation.

And somehow, terrifyingly, this feels like something I’m never going to walk away from.

Which is probably the dumbest possible thing considering he’s a mafia prince obsessed with dragging every secret out of me while I’ve spent my entire life trying not to give anyone enough pieces to hurt me with.

I don’t get it. It’s not that I never wanted men. I did, in dreams I never let myself look at too closely. I just never gave it room. I’ve always just been…me. Rowan Ashford, scholarship cello student stumbling through Caervast half a step behind everyone else. Poor, forgettable, ordinary.

Once, I kissed a girl because it was late and we were the only ones sitting near the east wall, and she was scared, and I just…kissed her. I liked it. I mean, it was interesting. But it was nothing like when Ciaran pinches my chin and angles me exactly the way he wants. When those brown eyes turn molten and he kisses me like he can’t get enough of me.

I can’t believe I stuck my finger in his ass. It felt so good. So soft. So—like I managed to find a fragile spot in the otherwise untouchable facade that is Ciaran Virel.

And when he pulled me apart for him, when those strong arms wrapped around me and held me close through every slow thrust, it stopped feeling like sex somewhere in the middle of it. It felt like something far more dangerous.

If anyone tried to pull me out of his embrace right now, I don’t think I’d survive it. Being with Ciaran has changed my life in every possible sense of the word. I already want him again.

Murmuring something against my neck, he crooks the finger still inside me and I stifle a moan as another slow pulse of pleasure rolls through my body.

Good Light, I’m a mess.

We’re lying on our sides beneath the tangled sheets, Ciaran pressed against my back, one arm heavy around my waist while his breath drifts warm against the nape of my neck.

I should go before this turns into something worse. Before morning comes. Before I start wanting things I can’t afford to want.

But every few seconds his fingers curl again inside me, slow and absentminded now, like even half asleep he still can’t stop taking me apart piece by piece.

There’s something intoxicating about the weight of him wrapped around me, about the warmth of his chest pressed along my spine, about those long fingers flexing slowly inside me while my mind keeps replaying what it felt like to kiss him, to touch him, to be pinned beneath him while he fucked me deep.

I ease beneath the sheets, meaning to move, but Ciaran tightens his arm around my waist and drags me harder against his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmurs against the back of my neck, his voice rough with sleep.

His fingers press deeper inside me at the same time, making my breath hitch.

I glance back over my shoulder, and my stomach twists the second I meet his gaze, those dark brown eyes heavy-lidded and darkened with heat in the dim light.

“I thought I’d be gone before you woke up. I mean—yeah. I need to practice. My Noctis class is tomorrow and I still haven’t⁠—”

Ciaran chuckles without loosening his arm around me, the hot weight of his erection pressing against the back of my thigh. “Your muscles keep clenching around my fingers,” he says. “Feels too fucking good to let you leave yet.”

“Ciaran... we just did this,” I whisper, but the protest sounds weak even to my own ears.

Do I want him to fuck me again? Really, what is he turning me into?

For years, I lived like a pathetic ghost, quiet and careful behind walls no one could climb. Now I’m teasing Ciaran Virel in bed like I’ve been doing it my entire life. And the worst part is that I’m enjoying every second of it.

I lean back against him before my brain catches up. “I thought you were supposed to be terrifying,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

“I am. But I don’t think I’m done wanting you yet, little mouse. You constantly surprise me.” He pulls his finger out of my ass, and I whine at the loss of touch, only for him to pull on my arms. “Roll over. I want to see your face.”

I obey, my movements heavy and uncoordinated as I turn in the tangle of sheets to face him, watching him loom over me, his expression unreadable in the amber light.

He snags the bottle of lube from the nightstand, coating his fingers before sliding one slick finger slowly back inside me.

It isn’t the cold gel that makes me jolt—it’s the second finger sliding in, forcing me open. His other hand grips my hip, opening me further as he works both fingers deep.

“You’re so beautiful.” His breath ghosts against my hairline, triggering a trail of goosebumps across my skin. “Relax now.”