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“It’s not that,” I snap, my voice tight. “It’s private. Just... please. Don’t call anyone.”
He watches me, then chuckles roughly and relents. “Fine. If it makes you feel better, I’ll find where the linens are hidden. But you’re helping.”
The thought unsettles me more than it should. Someone like Ciaran Virel isn’t supposed to bend around other people’s discomfort, but he does for me.
He lingers, his finger tracing the honey-colored birthmark high on my inner thigh. “And what about this?”
I have to force my gaze away from his straining cock.
“Little mouse?”
“It’s nothing,” I repeat, my voice thin.
“You go shy over the strangest things.” He watches me for another second before exhaling through his nose. “Fine. Be mysterious and emotionally complicated, then.”
I frown. Normally he’d needle me until I caved. Instead, he just lets it go, and somehow that’s stranger.
So I poke him in the chest. “Damaris says you’re a playboy.”
He catches my wrist. “See? That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d normally interrogate.” A smug grin tugs at his mouth. “But considering you let me fuck you twice and fell asleep in my bed, I’m feeling unusually generous.”
My face flushes. “That’s not how generosity works.”
“No?” His thumb brushes over my wrist. “Then let’s call it a reward for good behavior.”
“A reward.”
“Mm.” He looks far too satisfied with himself. “Don’t get used to it, little mouse. I’ll come back for that answer later.”
I trace one of the tattoos winding across his chest and tilt my head. “When did you figure it out?” I ask. “That you liked men too?”
A short laugh escapes him. “That’s quite a jump from accusing me of being a playboy.” His eyes scan mine, amusement flickering there. “But I’ve always had a healthy appetite, mouse. Men, women—it doesn’t matter to me as long as they’re interesting.” He tilts his head, his gaze sharpening. “Why? Is it not common on Düren to have partners from both genders?”
I stiffen at the question. On Düren, things are different. More rigid. More controlled.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t really explored the options, as you know.”
“Well, you’re exploring now,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. He pulls his bottom lip between his fingers, his eyes darkening.
My blood simmers at the thought of everyone else who has seen him like this. He’s the first for me, and the fact that I’m just another entry in his history makes my skin crawl. No matter what he says.
“How about you?” He releases his lip. “Think you’re bi?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I look away, unable to hold his stare. “I don’t think the gender matters as much as the pull.”
He turns toward the bathroom with a faint huff, and I forget how to breathe. Not just because of the sharp line of his spine or the strength moving beneath his skin, but because of the ink.
The dark tattoo curling across his chest doesn’t end at his collarbone like I first thought. Black lines trail over his shoulder and down his back, the creature stretching across him in pieces like something too large to be contained in one place. It looks less like a collection of tattoos and more like a warning carved directly into flesh.
A long black shadow-cat curves beneath his skin, sleek and elegant, something between a panther and one of the predators from old Reach folklore. The artist worked the ink around the natural contours of his body instead of hiding them, hollow eyes fixed forward, teeth barely bared beneath strands of thorned wire.
The creature looks patient. Predatory. Like the kind of thing that waits in silence before it strikes.
Dark crimson lines weave through the rest of the tattoo, threading around sharp geometric shapes and the outline of a jagged mountain split by a hidden opening near the center.
Ciaran glances back over his shoulder and catches me looking. “See something you like, little mouse?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “That thing is horrifying.”
