And then—he couldn’t hold it anymore.

The pleasure came suddenly, fiercely, tightening every muscle before crashing down through him like a storm breaking. He pulled back, his cock slipping free just as the heat of his release spilled across her stomach in thick, desperate pulses.

His hand braced beside her as he hovered, chest heaving, the world spinning. A faint flush painted his cheeks as he looked down at her—glistening, flushed, and still watching him with that same impossible gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, straightening where he knelt. His gaze drifted to the milky traces on her stomach, then flicked across the room in search of something to clean her with.

“It’s sex,” Katerina said, her tone lilting with an airy laugh as her fingers curled around his wrist. “It’s meant to get messy.”

She nudged his hand, gesturing to the sheet. “Just use that.”

He did as she asked, silent as he wiped her skin clean. Gentle, as though wiping away evidence of something sacred and unrepeatable.

She watched him with a quiet sort of curiosity. “Was it truly your first time?” Before he could bristle, she added, “Don’t look at me like that—I’m not mocking you. It’s just…” she tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “The way you carry yourself. The way you look... I’ve seen how women gaze at you.”

“They look at me like I’m something novel to taste. A fruit, exotic and ripe. Nothing more.” His words were matter-of-fact, lacking bitterness, yet softened by the rawness of truth. He stepped off the bed, sheet still in hand, and wiped the last of himself from his body.

“Is that what you think this was?” she asked, rolling onto her side. Her cheek rested in her palm, gaze following him lazily. “That I only meant to try you, then discard you for something sweeter?”

“You are very beautiful, Katerina,” he said, turning to face her. “You belong to the palace, a lady in waiting to the princess. You’ll marry well. A lord, perhaps. A dukedom. An estate with sun-drenched vineyards and children with your sharp tongue and clever eyes. I do not expect you to step down from your pedestal to humor me again. So yes—I believed it would be a singular moment.”

“Then why did you let it happen?” Her voice was softer now, stripped of its usual irony. “If you knew it would be nothing more.”

“Because I thought it would be worth it.”

She scoffed, almost bitter, but he raised a hand, palm up.

“Let me finish,” he said gently. “Yes, I receive attention. But never once has it been mutual. Not until you. I like you… Katerina. I thought it would be worth touching something I was never meant to hold—just for a moment. Even if it left me hollow afterward. Because you…” His voice faltered, not from hesitation but from the weight of sincerity. “You were worth it.”

She was quiet. For a long moment, neither moved.

Then: “You hardly know me,” she said, not unkindly. Her body shifted, kneeling now at the edge of the bed, closing the distance between them.

“I’d like to,” he said, and there was no pretense in his voice. Only longing. Only truth.

There was a genuineness in her—a fire too wild for the world to hold. Untamable. Unapologetic. And still, he wanted to reach out and fan the flames, even if they turned on him.

Her hands found him again, trailing over his stomach, rising over the cut of his chest, resting finally on the tops of his shoulders. Her lips hovered near his, not touching—just breathing the same breath. “Then come back to bed.”

And he did.

Not for lust, not for yearning, but for something quieter, more devastating. They laid together in the hush that follows confession. Her leg draped loosely over his thigh, her fingers idly tracing patterns against his chest—like she was trying to memorize him by touch alone.

His arm curled beneath her, his hand resting on the small of her back. They breathed in tandem. Listened. The warmth of her skin, the tick of her heartbeat, the impossibly mortal closeness of it all—this, too, was another part of her he wished to learn.