Emma's POV
"Wait—" The word tears out of me. "Don't—"
He lifts his head.
His eyes find mine in the dark—dark and intent and very, very focused. His hands are warm on my thighs, thumbs tracing slow absent arcs against my skin.
"Relax," he says. Low. Even. Like he's not currently positioned between my legs while I try to remember how English works. "I just want you to feel good."
"I know, but—" My face is on fire. My whole body is on fire. "That's—you don't have to—"
"Emma." His voice is quiet. Direct. "I know I don't have to." He holds my gaze, steady. "I want to. There's a difference."
I open my mouth. Close it.
"You rejected the bond," he says, and the words are completely without bitterness—just fact, just honesty, the way he handles everything. "I accepted that. I meant it. I'm
