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There are lines of scars all over the place, mapping out the violence this man was once exposed to. My hands stop roving when I get to his tattoos.

“Will you tell me what these mean at some point?” I ask. He’s already said a little about them, but I’m curious about the rest.

Memnon cups my face, and the look he’s giving me makes me feel beloved. I like it far, far too much for my own good.

“At some point, I won’t need to,” he says cryptically.

He releases me but only so his hands can move to the seam of my pants. In a couple of deft movements, he undoes the top button and zipper.

“Lie back, little witch,” Memnon commands.

My pulse is racing, but there’s something about this sorcerer that also makes me feel so very…safe.

Maybe it’s simply the fact he actually did save my life.

I lower myself back to the bed just as Memnon’s hands hook over the top of my pants and my underwear. He pulls them down, his eyes fixed to my flesh.

The sorcerer tugs them off and then skims his palm up my calf and smooths over my thigh. His gaze scours my body, drinking it in for so long that a little bit of nervous magic sifts from my palms.

Memnon’s eyes slowly drift up to mine. “You hold me in your thrall, little witch,” he says, his voice husky. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen you this way.”

Role-playing—we’re just role-playing.

“Does my king like what he sees?” I ask in Sarmatian. It’s supposed to be an easy, playful response. Only after it leaves my lips do I realize I’ve opened myself up for rejection.

A wry smile graces his mouth at the endearment. “Every inch of you is sheer perfection, my queen. Api fashioned the most flawless woman when he made you.”

I swallow, unsure how to respond tothat. It isn’t a rejection, but it feels equally hard to accept, for some reason.

Memnon lowers himself between my thighs. “Now, soul mate, let’s see this pretty pussy of yours.”

Soul mate?

Oh no, no, no.

I press my fingers to Memnon’s lips and shake my head. “You can call me your queen and your empress and your witch, but—not that.”

I’m only willing to role-play so far.

Memnon arches a brow. Gently, he pries my hand away from his mouth, pausing to give each fingertip a kiss. It’s oddly…affectionate.

“All right…Selene,” he agrees.

He returns his attention to my core. The way he’s looking at it makes me want to shift. Memnon moves first one of my legs, then the other, over his shoulder.

Then he spreads my outer lips apart and stares at my vagina like he’s trying to divine the future from it.

“How I have missed this too.”

Memnon leans in and peppers kisses along those outer lips. His mouth is so light and reverent, I jolt a little when his tongue finally strokes up my seam, the touch so much bolder than what came before it.

He groans. “Ah, the taste of you, Empress!” His hold on me tightens. “All the liquor in the world cannot intoxicate me the way you can.”

I shift under him, digging my heels into his back as my nerves ratchet up.

His fingers knead a little into my hips. “I can feel how tense you are,” he says. “Relax, I’m going to take care of you.”

I hadn’t realized I tensed up, but Iamfairly rigid. I force my muscles to loosen.