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Her stained fingers rise and push the black hair back from the broken stump of my right horn. I let her. The control I maintain in every other part of my life costs more when she touches me like this. My hand settles at the side of her neck, thumb resting under her jaw. I could close my fingers and end her in a single motion. I keep the pressure light enough that she can step away if she wishes.

I lift her. One arm under her thighs, the other supporting her back. She weighs almost nothing against the strength the Volvath are bred for. I carry her to the wide sleeping platform and set her down on the edge of the dark furs. She reaches for the fastenings of my lower armor before I can. The plates part under her roughened hands. She frees me with the same practical focus she brings to her tinctures. Her palm slides along the ridged length of my cock, learning the heat and weight of me again. Slick already gathers at the tip. Her own underthings are damp when I push the gown up and drag the cloth aside.

I do not enter her at once. I lower myself between her thighs and put my mouth on her instead. The taste of her is sharp and clean and already wet. I work her with tongue and careful pressure until her hips lift and her stained fingers fist in my hair. When she comes the first time it is with a short, bitten-off sound and a rush of clear fluid that coats my tongue and chin. I stay there until the pulses fade, then rise over her.

She guides me in herself. The first slow slide is tight and hot. I watch her face the entire way, reading every shift of muscle and breath. When I am fully seated the pressure of her around me is enough to make the discipline waver. I hold still, giving her time, until she rolls her hips and tells me to move.

I move.

Controlled power. Long strokes that let her feel every ridge. The wet sound of it fills the quiet space between the rain and our breathing. Her legs lock around my hips. I brace one hand beside her head so I do not crush her; the other stays under her knee, opening her wider. Each drive forces a small sound from her throat. Slick runs down between us and soaks the furs. The scent of her arousal rises thick and unmistakable.

“Harder,” she says.

I give it to her harder. The platform shifts under the force. Her breasts move with every thrust. I lean down so my mouth is near her ear and keep the words low enough that they travel through bone.

“You closed that contract on your own terms. You built the network through Miana. You stood in front of House Varnek and made them name you correctly. And still you come to my chambers and open for me like this.”

“Do not make it a speech.”

“It is not a speech. It is the truth.”

I reach between us and rub her clit in firm circles timed to the snap of my hips. She comes a second time with a broken cry, walls clamping hard around me, another rush of clear fluid pulsing out and soaking my plates and the furs beneath us. I fuck her through every wave, drawing it out until her legs shake and her nails dig into the seams of my carapace.

I pull out before I follow her. She makes a protesting sound. I roll onto my back and bring her with me so she straddles my hips. My cock stands thick and slick between us. She looks down at me, green eyes dark, hair fully loose now, gown still rucked around her waist.

“Your turn,” I say.

She sinks down onto me in one slow, deliberate motion. The heat of her closes around me again. She plants her stained hands on the plates of my chest and begins to move. Rolling hips that take me deep on every downstroke and grind her clit against me on every rise. The wet slap of it is louder in this position. Fluid gathers and drips down my length with every motion. I keep my hands at her waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin above her hipbones, guiding without taking control. The restraint costs. My fingers flex and ease against the urge to grip harder and drive up into her.

She fucks herself on my cock with the same focused intensity she brings to her work. I watch the way her body takes me, the way her breasts move, the way her mouth opens on quiet sounds she tries to keep contained. When her rhythm falters I thrust up to meet her, short and deep. She gasps and picks up the pace again.

“That’s it,” I tell her. “Take what you want from me. I am not going anywhere.”

She comes a third time with her head thrown back and a raw sound that echoes off the stone. Her walls pulse and flutter around me. More clear discharge spills down my cock and onto my plates. I hold her through it, then sit up so we are chest to chest. The new angle lets me drive up into her while she is still shaking. Two more strokes and I follow, burying myself deep and flooding her in thick, hot pulses. The heat of my release mixes with her slick until everything between us is messy and wet and unmistakable.

We stay locked together while our breathing slows. Rain still hammers the glass. I ease her down onto the furs beside me and pull the heavier cover over both of us. Her head rests against the lower plates of my chest. My arm stays around her, large enough to span her entire back. The scent of sex and rain and the residual herbs on her skin fills the space.

She is quiet for a long time. Then:

“The guards still resent me.”

“They will learn. Or they will answer to me.”

“I do not need you to fight every battle.”

“I know. That does not mean I will stop.”

Silence again. Outside, the storm begins to ease. The first thin light of approaching dawn softens the black beyond the windows.

“Korgath will come at you through law next. Sabotage failed. Direct force would draw Asmodeus’s eye too soon. Law is quieter and harder to answer. He will try to redefine you. Pet, liability, unauthorized asset… anything that strips the name you just earned. Learn every rule they use to define you before he does. Vulmar’s archive has the statutes. Go there. Read them. Memorize the language they will try to turn against you.”

She lifts her head. Green eyes meet mine in the growing light. The anger is still present, but so is the clear-eyed choice she made when she came to my door.

“And if I refuse the protection while I do it?”

“Then I will still be here when the law arrives. That part is not negotiable.”

She studies my face for a long moment. Then she settles back against me, one stained hand resting over the broken stump of my horn as though the shape of it still anchors her.