Page 68

My pulse pounds.

Every instinct urges me to pull her closer, to discover how much more pleasure her touch can awaken.

But I remember the fear in her eyes when I demanded another man’s name.

I remember her telling me she would never belong to someone who mistook love for ownership.

So I loosen my hold.

Wren draws back just enough to look at me.

“Why did you stop?”

“Because I am attempting to behave honorably.”

She grins.

“How’s that going?”

“Poorly.”

Her laughter brushes against my mouth.

I smile.

Then kiss her again.

Slowly.

Tenderly.

As though I have all the time in the world.

Because for the first time in three thousand years, I do not wish to hurry toward anything.

I want this.

Her laughter.

Her warmth.

The privilege of being chosen.

When she finally lifts her head, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes shine.

“Then I’m yours,” she whispers.

I go still.

She brushes her thumb across my jaw.

“Not because you demanded it. Not because I owe you anything.”

“I know.”

“Because I want to be.”

I press my forehead against hers.