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He turns me under the water and presses his mouth to the back of my shoulder. I close my eyes as one kiss becomes another. Caressing hands move to my hips, then lower, gripping with a familiarity that makes me shiver.

‘Valentin.’

His cock presses against me, hard and hot against the wet curve of my ass. I feel his smile against my skin. Still sore?

A ridiculous laugh breaks out of me. ‘You ask that now?’

I have been asking.

Yes. Through the bond. Every few seconds. With the grim concentration of a man defusing a bomb while naked and aroused.

And I appreciate the concern, truly, but there’s a limit.

I brace my hands against the marble wall as his fingers slide between my legs, stroking over my clit with agonising patience. ‘Gods… Valentin,’ I gasp.

His voice brushes through my mind again. Tell me if you wish me to stop.

I arch back into him, because apparently my body enjoys undermining me in court. ‘I can use my voice now, remember? If you’re going to speak into my mind while your hand is between my legs, say something filthy.’

The fingers between my thighs pause. For one second, I think I’ve shocked him.

Then, You want to hear how much I have missed this tight cunt?

My whole body jolts and he strokes me again. Turning my head, I glare at him over my shoulder. ‘You’re enjoying this far too much.’

His eyes burn through the steam. ‘I have missed enjoying you.’

And just like that the teasing disappears as the words tunnel somewhere soft and raw. I swallow, feel his hand still, and the bond goes careful and quiet. Open. Waiting.

I could make a joke. I should make a joke. Instead, I whisper, ‘Then stop being so damn careful.’

Something in him breaks loose.

And when it’s over, neither of us moves, the only sound our harsh breathing and the falling water.

Then his mouth touches the side of my neck, over and over, without fang. Restraint that says too much and not nearly enough.

Afterwards, he wraps me in a towel, because apparently we’re back to his imperial caretaking era, then carries me to the bed despite my very reasonable protest that my legs remain mostly functional.

‘Mostly functional is not functional.’

‘That is not a medical opinion.’

‘It is mine.’

‘Of course. The famous vampire school of because I said so.’

He feeds me before I can object again. Warm soup. I try to take the bowl from him, and he gives me a look that says empires have fallen for less disrespect.

So I let him feed me three spoonfuls before pride rallies. ‘I can hold a spoon.’

Silver whirls slowly in his eyes, as if it’s also at peace with this moment. Perhaps even revelling in it. ‘I know.’

‘Then why are you doing this?’

His gaze flicks to my mouth, my throat, then away. ‘Because I can. Because I cherish taking care of you. So you will let me.’

The answer is too honest to mock properly. Unvarnished enough to make my heart flip twice this time.