I’m nervous.

I may have memories of doing this in another life, I may have even drunkenly done this with the sorcerer in this one, but this time, there’s no alcohol or espiritus to blunt my nerves.

“Selene.”

My shoulders tense at the sound of his voice, which is somehow tender and intimate and knowing. I don’t know how it’s knowing—unless he’s been eavesdropping on this entire inner dialogue.

“Come here, little mate,” Memnon says, his voice gruff. “I am tied up and yours to do with as you please.”

I draw a deep breath and turn to Memnon. It takes so much to let him look his fill at my naked body. And he does. He looks and looks, swears under his breath, and looks some more.

Eventually, his gaze moves to my face, pausing on my cheeks, where I can feel the hot rush of blood staining my skin.

“You’re embarrassed,” he says, surprised. Never mind that he’s lying naked and chained to the bed. “We’ve done this many times.”

“It’s not that,” I say as one of my orbs of light dips in close before bobbing back up above us.

What is it? he says down our bond.

But the answer is right there.

Casual intimacy is fun and easy for me. This is something else. Not even the lightly kinky aspects of it can hide the fact that this entire night, I’ve been seeing Memnon differently. I’ve pursued him not as some drunken mistake but because I wanted to touch something real and deep.

And that’s terrifying when it comes to the sorcerer. The moment Memnon’s greedy, devouring eyes recognize I’m no longer keeping it casual, he will be all in, pressing his advantage. And like he said, he’ll continue to tie himself closer and closer to me in every way that he can.

I should walk out of the room right now. There’s a couch to sleep on, and there are other unexplored rooms to this house that likely have beds. We can still keep this relationship carefully contained.

The damnable truth of it is that I want my mate. I want him so badly my skin throbs from it and my magic is acting out to make it happen.

So I return to the bed, climbing on like nothing was ever amiss. Once more, I straddle Memnon, though I’m having trouble meeting his face. My eyes would much rather take in all the lines of his tattoos.

But I do force my gaze up. “I can do anything to you, est xsaya?” I ask. It’s not really a question of whether I literally can. He’s already given me that power over him. It’s a question of whether he’s okay with it.

“Anything,” he agrees fervently. “I am yours.”

He is right there, his face so close, his heart laid bare before me.

The look has me feeling shy and skittish all over again, and only my deep-seated desire to be close to him keeps me from backing down.

You’re in control, I remind myself.

I move down his body and grasp his cock. He’s already rock-hard, and I’m intimidated all over again by how large he is, which is silly. Leaning over it, I take the head of him into my mouth.

Memnon hisses, the chains rattling as he nearly rises off the bed.

“Gods, Selene.”

I swirl my tongue over the head of him, pumping my fist up and down his shaft. The sorcerer’s muscles have gone taut with tension, and when I take him deeper, those manacles clink together again.

“Fucking witchcraft, that mouth of yours…” he mutters, making me smile around him. He groans when he feels the action. “Only do that again, my queen, if you want me to come in your mouth. I have no resistance to those smiles.”

Much as I’d enjoy bringing him to release this way, I’m not ready to be done with him yet. So I let my grin fall away, and I work him until his hips are bucking and he’s whispering praises in Sarmatian, his head flung back against the pillow.

Only then, once I’ve gotten my fill of him, do I move, releasing his shaft so that I can straddle his hips. I rise up on my knees and position his cock at my opening. The head of it skims between my folds.

Memnon groans as his eyes fix on that point of contact. His gaze rises to mine, and my earlier insecurities are gone.

This is right. Finally, it’s right.

Slowly, I sink down on him. The headboard creaks as Memnon strains to stay still, letting me control the pace.

“Intoxicating witch,” he breathes, “you’re a vision.”

As is he, bound beneath me, though I don’t say this. I’m too busy enjoying the sensation of my core stretching around him.

“Gods, yes, my queen,” he says, reverting to Sarmatian. “You take me so well.”

I feel myself tighten around him, and he hisses out a breath, his hips reflexively jerking up against mine. I moan as he buries the last of himself in me, and I’m unprepared for the overwhelming feeling of having him fully seated in me.

I lean forward, breathing through the sharp, tight sensation.

Memnon gazes down the line of his body at me. “Are you all right?” he says, concern wrinkling his brow.

Your massive dick almost killed me, but I’m fine.

I don’t mean to actually pass that thought along, but then I see his features relax a little. The corners of Memnon’s mouth quirk. Wait for your orgasm. If it doesn’t deliver you to the gods for a moment or two then, I’ll have to do it over again.

The painful tightness dissolves away as my body adjusts to him, and I grind against Memnon a little, testing out whether I’m good.

His manacles clink again, and I see his arms strain against the bonds as he throws his head back for a moment, exhaling a ragged breath. “This is the sweetest torment, little witch.”

The sight of him truly at my mercy now emboldens me. I place a hand on his chest and lift myself off his cock until only the tip remains in me. Then I sink back down.

Again the chains rattle and Memnon’s muscles strain. I like that reaction.

I do it again and again and again.

Memnon groans. “My lovely, wicked mate. I was wrong earlier. This is simply torment.”

“Good,” I say. “You deserve to be tormented.” I find a rhythm and stick to it. The sorcerer’s hips move in time with mine, meeting me thrust for thrust until I’m gasping and moaning.

I look at the sorcerer’s face, and my heart feels like it’s caving in, and my lungs can’t quite draw in enough air.

I cup the side of his face. Beloved. I remember when he was beloved by me. I can feel the emotion right there, waiting to sweep back in.

He doesn’t have to be my enemy. He doesn’t have to even be just my friend. We could have what we once did.

I lean forward and kiss Memnon again, my hand moving from his cheek. I’m torn. So torn. I want to let go. I’m scared to do so. I’m not sure I'll have a choice soon.

The manacles clang and the headboard knocks against the wall, and then I feel Memnon’s arms wrap around me even as he continues to kiss me.

I flick my eyes to the headboard, where the now empty manacles hang limply against Memnon’s belt.

“I’m sorry, est amage,” he breathes, breaking off the kiss. “I wanted to be a good captive. I did. But after two thousand years apart, I have grown greedy.”

With that, he flips us so I’m beneath him, and now he’s setting the pace, his cock driving into me harder and harder, the action making slick, wet sounds.

I gasp out a breath, not just because the change in tempo is rapidly driving me toward an orgasm. Pinned beneath him like this, I’m not in control. Not unless I command him, and my heart’s not interested in that.

Instead, I stare up at him, feeling lighter than air, afraid I might fall. Terrified he’ll notice and make it happen.

So I force my eyes away and rake my nails up his back, focusing my attention on where the two of us are joined.

“Love your pussy most when it’s stretched around me like this,” he says. “I can feel it fluttering.”