Oh, so now he’s also lying to me? When I answered this onehonestly? I hate howperfectly matchedin a flawlesslyequal oppositeway that makes me feel. “I put you.” The picture of him topless and struck appears vividly in my head. Mystopwasn’t in question. There was no coercing. No complaints. He just obeyed, and then he experienced a remorse so palpable I couldseeit before he apologized.
Basically.
Could not be me.
Yeesh.
He’s kind of…too sweet, isn’t he?
I could never be half so saccharine.
What happened wasn’t even his fault. It was all on me.Ikissed him.Iescalated the situation.Ishould have apologized. And, yet, I didn’t.
Ihaven’t.
Biting my cheek, I say, “Kyran.”
“I can’t believe you accusemeof making the first move,” he says, looking at my sheet. “I’m much too innocent for skullduggery of that nature.”
I catch on that word for a moment.Skullduggery. Who says that? What does that even mean?
Deciding that he absolutely stole it from someone or somewhere, I repeat, “Kyran.”
His blue eyes hit mine.
I bite out my cheap apology. “I’m sorry.”
“For…daring to accuse me of attempting to seduce you?” His eyes skate over me, practically undressing, before they close. “When I wouldnever.” He sniffs. “I accept your contrition.”
My eyes roll. He really is such a genuine lunatic. I clarify, “For earlier. For kissing you.”
“Morana,” he states.
My chest pinches. “Wh…what?”
“Never, ever, apologize for kissing me. I apologized earlier because I went farther than you wanted, but youcan’tgo too far with me. You never need to apologize for touching me. I don’t want you sorry that you have. Ever.”
Heat zips down my spine, settling in my belly, so I tangle my fingers at my midsection, hoping it’ll quiet down.
Lifting his hand, he catches a lock of my hair and tucks it behind my ear, letting his fingers graze my cheek as they pass. “I am yours, mistress. You will always be at liberty to do whatever you want to me. Without repentance. Without regret.”
That kind of power is surely going to be disastrous in my hands.
Tender, he says, “You…don’t regret earlier, do you?”
I can still feel him, at my neck, nipping so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if it made me bleed. I know I’m bruised. He touched me in ways I’ve never been touched before—like he wanted access in to my very soul. It made everything else I’ve ever experienced pale in comparison.
Do I regret knowing that it happened?
Do I regret knowing that my frail efforts to brother-sister us can’t ever come back now?
Do I regret how drastically this has changedeverything?
Maybe. Maybe just a little bit. Maybe just because it’schange, andchangeis scary and hard.
But, do I regret anything so much that I don’t dearly wish to find myself in a position where I might be able to touch him again?
I say, “No. I don’t.”
