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“I won’t touch your mask,” I say. “Only your clothes. I promise.”

He lowers his hands, and I climb back onto the bed and kneel in front of him.

The robe comes first. It’s black with tarnished gold thread worked along the high collar and down the front, and it closes with a row of clasps that I open one by one, top to bottom, taking my time with each. He holds still while I work. When I open the last clasp, I push the robe off his shoulders and down his arms, He lets me pull it free and lay it aside.

“You wear so many layers,” I say. “I’m not in a hurry.”

The waistcoat laces up the front. I untie the knot at the top and loosen each cross of the lace. Under it, his shirt is white, plain, and closed with more laces at the throat. I pull those open too. I gather the shirt in my hands and lift it, and he raises his arms so I can draw it over his head.

His skin is pale, almost translucent, the skin of a man who never sees the sun. I gasp at how wide his shoulders are, how strong and defined. His chest and arms are hard with muscle. He’s long in the arms and long in the torso. None of it matches a human man’s build, though I couldn’t say which part is wrong. I press my palm to his chest and feel how warm he is, almost hot. I expected cold, because everything about him is so still and pale, but the heat of him sends a current straight to my core.

I untie the laces at the front of his trousers and work them down his hips and legs. He shifts to let me take them off. His cock stands long and thick against his stomach. The tip is already wet with a bead of precum sliding down the underside. He looks like a marble sculpture. I can’t help myself; I lean back and just take him in, every inch of his exposed body, trying to memorize him.

I realize I’ve only slept with boys before. Mordred is not a boy.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell him.

He doesn’t reply to that.

I am wet between my legs. Impatient. I press myself against him, my breasts to his chest, my thighs against his, and I kiss the smooth, white cheek of his mask. I hate that it’s in the way, but I will respect his wish. His body is majestic. I honestly don’t think his face is any different. But if he’s not ready to show it to me, then I won’t cross that boundary.

I kiss the edge where the porcelain ends and his throat begins. The skin there is soft and warm. I trail down the side of his neck and along his collarbone. I put my hands on his shoulders and gently push him.

“Lie back.”

He goes down onto the pillows, easily, with no resistance. I follow him, my mouth moving over his chest, down the center of his stomach, along the line of his hip. I kiss him, bite him, lick him, taste his skin like I’ve been starved. It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I need it.

I can feel him holding still under me, his muscles tight, his hands closed at his sides. When I reach his cock and bend to suck him into my mouth, his hand closes over my shoulder.

I look up. He shakes his head and pulls me up. I don’t fight him. If this is another boundary, I’ll respect it. He draws me up his body until I’m kneeling astride his chest, then farther up, until my thighs are on either side of his head. His hands grip my hips, but he’s careful not to let his claws dig into my flesh.

“Oh,” I whisper.

He holds me there and lifts his head. I feel the porcelain ribs of the grille press against my soaked folds, cool and hard, then his tongue pushes between them and into me.

I throw my head back.

“I didn’t think you could do that with the mask on.”

The porcelain is cool against my pussy, the ribs push into my sensitive flesh every time he pulls me down onto him, but his tongue is hot and long, and it overwhelms everything. He licks into me, up over my clit and back down. I rock against the mask as he holds my hips, making sure I don’t get away, not even when it’s too much. I’m soaked. I can feel it running down, seeping through the grille and onto his tongue. The lower part of his mask gets so wet with my juices that I can smell myself when I curve my back over him to look at what he’s doing to me. I see his tongue slipping between the ribs, right into my pussy. The sight draws me dangerously close to the edge.

“I’m dripping all over your mask,” I gasp. “There. Yes. Like that. Don’t stop.”

He pushes his tongue deeper and swallows. I feel his throat work against the inside of my thighs. I brace my hands on the headboard and grind down on his face. I come with a cry, my thighs shaking, my spine turning to jelly. He keeps his tongue moving until I’m oversensitive and have to pull away. I collapse next to him, chest heaving.

I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. My pussy aches with it, swollen, open, and empty. It’s been too long, but that isn’t the only reason. Until now, I’ve never been intimate with someone who was more than a convenient body to me, a quick tryst to get the tension out of my system. Mordred is so much more. He’s kind, caring, gentle. He wanted me when I was covered in scars.

I push myself up and slide down his body until his cock is under me, wet and hot against me. I reach between us, take hold of him, and rub the head between my folds until he’s slick with me. I start sinking down.

“Slowly,” I say, more to myself than to him. “Let me.”

He fills me and stretches me, thicker than anyone I’ve had. I take him all the way and stop there with my hands on his chest.

“Do you feel that?” I say. “Do you feel how wet I am for you? That’s yours.”

He settles his hands on my hips again. He barely moves under me, just tiny twitches and shivers he can’t help. It’s as if he’s afraid to do anything. Behind the mask, I can see his black eyes study me, looking at me with reverence. His head is tilted on the pillow, and his chest lifts and falls under my hands. From this up close, I can see his lips move. But they’re not human lips, they’re thinner and stretch wider, and I can’t read them as they are blocked by the porcelain ribs. Is he loud? Is he whispering? I will never know what he’s saying to me as I start rolling my hips tentatively.

I take my time, as I promised, rising, sinking, and rolling forward again. He doesn’t thrust up into me. He lets me move at my own pace. Maybe he doesn’t know that he’s allowed to touch me. I take his hands off my hips and bring them to my breasts.