Page 226 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Princess.” He pulls me back against him, and my body melts into him, recognizing him before my mind has registered who is behind me. “What is it?”

“Hm?”

“I could sense your anxiety,” he says, nuzzling my ear.

“You’re really here? How?” I ask, my voice practically a moan.

“It felt worth the risk, but I don’t have long.” I rest back against him, letting myself sink into his strength. “What is it?” he asks, and I know this is the perfect time to tell him, but the nervous butterflies are fluttering madly alongside the giddy ones.

“It’s nothing,” I say, just wanting to be with him for a moment.

“Liar,” he says, sliding his lips over my throat.

I tilt my head, opening for him and leaning back against his shoulder. It’s time to tell him. He’s not going to drop it. “I think we need to . . .” I hesitate, but he doesn’t tense behind me. He just keeps dragging his nose along my neck. “Slow it down a little.”

Now he tenses and goes very still. I don’t move, barely breathing, but after a moment, he brushes his lips along my neck again. “Explain.”

I exhale. “I just think that we should probably slow down a little while you have to be in your other form.”

“Ah.” He chuckles darkly, and he brushes his fingers along the bottom of my skirt, just barely touching my thigh.

“W-what?” I ask breathlessly.

“You like feeling me too much. The real me.”

He drags my skirt up a little before pressing me against the counter and moving his hand to my shirt. He pulls it free from my waistband to tease his fingers over my stomach.

“That’s why you want less of me,” he murmurs, his simple touch threatening to set me aflame.

“That’s not what I said . . .”

“It’s what you meant,” he says, nipping at my ear.

I moan. “No, I said we should slow things down . . .”

“Because I drive you wild,” he says into my ear, slipping his fingertips beneath the waistband of my skirt. “Slow down how?”

“No sexual things,” I say, and I feel his lips still for a moment. “Gods, I can’t . . . I can’t think when you’re touching me.”

He chuckles again and slowly pulls his hand from beneath my shirt. From the way I press more against the counter, I’m guessing he’s braced his there, leaving just his palm covering my eyes.

I take a breath. “I need to spend some time focusing on me.”

“Focusing on you?” he asks carefully.

“Yes,” I say, my voice still thick with desire. “And it’s difficult to do when I’m distracted.” He goes so silent that if it weren’t for his hand over my eyes and the way that sliver of his magic within me squirms when he’s around, I’d think he was gone.

“You want to stand on your own,” he says eventually.

“I just want to sort my mind out.”

His hand settles back on my hip, and he turns me around to face him, somehow managing to keep his hand over my eyes. “And where do you want me to be?”

“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” I answer truthfully.

“I see.” I can practically hear him thinking, feel his eyes on me. “Keep your eyes closed.”

I nod behind his hand, fluttering my eyelashes so he can feel that I’ve closed them.