Memnon grinds himself against me, swiveling his hips in a figure eight motion.

I gasp at the sensation, nearly going boneless.

When I meet his eyes, he flashes me a wicked look. “There are perks to my knowing your body as well as I do.”

You can let go, a small voice inside me says. He will catch you.

Don’t fall, another voice cautions. Once you do, there will be no going back.

Let go.

Hold on.

Fall.

Don’t.

I grasp Memnon’s ass, my nails digging in as I brace myself, each thrust throwing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Tell me to stop and I will stop,” he says, unaware of my thoughts. “Bound or not, I’m still your captive.” He means it too. I see that.

But I can’t tell him to stop. Not when each stroke feels like a slice of heaven.

So instead, I stare at him as I climb and climb and⁠—

My nails dig in. “Memnon.”

That’s all I manage to get out before my orgasm shatters through me. Memnon watches me as I come, his strokes relentless, his eyes greedily drinking in my expression.

I stare into those smoky amber eyes, locked in whatever spell he’s cast. Or maybe this is the magic of our bond—the one fate made for us.

Fall. Don’t. Fall.

Memnon comes then, his body crashing against mine again and again and again.

His orgasm seems endless, and his expression is the definition of bliss. His eyes never leave mine, even after his climax has rolled through him.

My heart thunders.

Will either of us know when the bond between us is broken? Will we sense it? I want to give him a command, just to check. But then he’ll know I’m checking the bond, and he’ll quickly put together just how close I am to falling for him. I don’t want him to know. I still have my sliver of control, and I want to wield it until it disintegrates away.

Memnon slows, studying me as he pulls out, a slight frown marring his lips, as though he senses the undercurrents of my thoughts. But then the expression is wiped free from his face, and I have no idea whether I imagined it all.

Before I get the chance to flee, the sorcerer gathers me to him, and…it’s nice. Really nice.

Maybe I’ll just lie here for a little while…

The shackles were fun, Empress.

They were.

Too bad they didn’t hold you, I say. Where am I going to sleep tonight? I ask. I don’t know why I ask. He’s already given me this bed, this room. But now he’s in it, and our bodies are cooling, and this situation feels hasty.

Right here, in my arms.

There’s no hesitation to his words, just a shit ton of kingly authority. It’s pretty ballsy, considering I’m the one with the commands. At least I think I can still command him.

But his arms feel nice. No, better than nice—they feel like home, even if I’m loath to admit it.

How long are you planning on holding me? I ask.

As long as I can get away with.

Warmth suffuses me. Damn this man.

For several minutes, the two of us lie there, Memnon playing with my hair and me tracing his tattoos. I nearly put myself in a trance, following those flowing, curving lines.

“What’s the strangest thing about the modern world?” I ask.

“There are many strange things about this world,” he says smoothly, as though the question isn’t completely out of the blue. “Cars, computers, phones, television. There is such precision to even common things, and there are so many choices—gods, the choices. There’s also the ease of existence. Things that once took hours you can now buy instantly and cheaply.”

“Is any of it off-putting?” I ask.

“It is all off-putting.”

“You wouldn’t know it,” I say softly. This is a man who’s electronically deposited money into my account, who drove me in his car, then his motorcycle, and who is holding down a job, even if it is for the supernatural mafia. A man who has some grasp on modern fashion and who now speaks English flawlessly.

“I have spent whole weeks mining people’s minds for information on this modern world so that I might not fall prey to it,” he confesses.

I try not to think of what that must’ve looked like and how many people’s heads he must’ve pried into.

“Do you regret being here, in the modern world?”

“If you had asked me before I saw your memories, I would’ve said yes,” Memnon answers. “Now, however, I know truly what you did. You, Roxilana, bought us a future when there was none, and you paid for it with your life. We no longer have armies or palaces, but we exist, little witch. You go by a different name and speak a different tongue and wear different clothes, but you are still my soul mate and my queen.”

And you are still my king. I almost say it, but I bite back the sentiment.

“I do have a family,” I say instead.

That was one of my deepest agonies in my past life—losing them. And it is something I took for granted up until my memories returned to me.

Memnon’s face lights with interest. “Your family,” he says, as though it’s only now clicking. “They were in your photo albums.” Despite seeing their pictures, it seems as though he’s only now putting together what that actually means to me. “I haven’t met them,” he says, and there’s true regret in his voice.

I nearly laugh. Of course he hasn’t met them.

“You’ve been too busy making yourself my enemy to get the chance to meet your future in-laws.”

I realize my mistake immediately.

Unfortunately, so does Memnon.

“My future in-laws?” His voice is dripping with delight.

I cannot even explain the slip of tongue.

“I can,” Memnon says, listening in to my thoughts. “You rode me better than I ride horses. Of course you want more.”

Goddess above. I cover his mouth. “You are never to speak another lewd comment that involves me and horses.”

“Forever?” he asks solemnly, his response muffled by my hand.

“Forever and ever and ever,” I say, feeling a perplexing combination of relief and disappointment that the command seems to take.

“Aw, damn, soul mate,” he says, dragging my hand away. “Now you’ve just given me a challenge too good to pass up.”

He moves down my body.

“What is the challenge? And what are you doing?”

The sorcerer keeps lowering himself, the tips of his hair brushing against my skin. It’s not until he’s settled himself between my thighs and spread them apart that I become aware of what he intends to do.

“It’s dirty down there!” I say, attempting to close my legs.

He easily catches them and moves them one by one over his shoulders.

“Take the order back, and I won’t horrify your delicate senses.”

“I take it back! You can say lewd things all you want.”

“Thank you, mate.”

And then he leans in and kisses my pussy anyway.

I’m about to screech like an owl when he pulls away, laughing. “All right, fine, keep me away from your pussy.” He rests his head on my pubic bone. “But I do want to meet my future wife’s parents.”

I groan and cover my eyes with my hand. “Please never again bring my parents up when you’re about to eat me out.”

Down our bond, I can feel his pleasure, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I didn’t fight him on the issue of marriage.

He knows you’re crumbling.

“Does this mean I get to feast on you after all?” he says.

“Memnon,” I groan.

“Never mind.” He moves up my body, draping himself over me. “When do I get to meet them?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my face.

I’m too distracted by the new yet familiar feel of his weight on me to answer. Despite our size difference, we fit together like puzzle pieces.

He brushes a finger over my lower lip, then leans in and kisses me. “When?” he presses.

My parents. Right. “They’re away at the moment, playing tourist around Europe, but once they return home, maybe…” I trail off, unsure what exactly I want to say—unsure of exactly what I want.