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He frowned. “The deals were a game, Zara. This isn’t a joke.”

“I know it was a game. I am still playing it.” She knew he wanted her, but he was afraid to admit it, for some reason. “What are you afraid of?”

He looked away. “I’m not a fool. I understand what it means to be female and a slave. I understand the kinds of things that must have happened to you.”

She raised her eyebrows. He was as serious as she’d ever seen him. She could sense him pushing through discomfort to talk about this.

“I’m not here to take advantage of your situation,” he said. “That isn’t what I brought you here for.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause filled with the sound of trickling water as Zara considered what to say.

She cleared her throat. “You are right. There were other people who… took advantage of me.”

“You don’t need to talk about it,” he said quickly.

“I want to,” she said, but she paused, wondering how to word it.

At the time, those things had felt almost normal. To her, it had been just one of many unpleasant tasks in life. It had seemed better than being beaten, and she had not yet been wise enough to understand how evil those people were for what they did. It was only afterward that she had realized how profoundly it had hurt her, and it had taken years to begin to unravel the harm they’d done.

She no longer really felt distress when she thought about it, but she’d found that other people became upset when she talked about it.

“It was… a long time ago,” she said. She cautiously glanced up at Nero, vaguely ashamed and defensive. She waited for him to ask her whether she’d tried to fight them, or whether she’d tried to punish them for it afterwards. But he didn’t. His face was hard, and she could see that he was angry, but not at her.

She settled against the lip of the pool, relieved. “Those things do not affect me much now, but I… still do not like feeling overpowered. It bothers me. But I do not feel that way when I am with you. I do not think I ever will. You make me feel strong.”

“You are strong.”

Warmth wrapped around her chest and flooded her cheeks. Slowly, she reached out and grasped the collar of his shirt. She pulled him closer, and he flung out his arms to keep himself from falling into the pool.

“I like you,” she said, and immediately she thought it sounded stupid, but what else could she say? It was true.

She fingered the fabric of his collar thoughtfully. Maybe she didn’t need to convince him that she wanted him. Maybe she just needed to take what she wanted.

She leaned forward and gently kissed him. He didn’t resist. And gradually she felt his body giving in to her touch.

“Get in the water,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at her. For a moment, she thought he would push her away. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

She gave his collar another jerk. She thought about just pulling him in, and the idea made her smirk. Would he be angry, or aroused?

But he didn’t need further encouragement. He kissed her again, then shrugged off his jacket and stepped into the pool, fully clothed. Zara blinked at him, taken aback and very turned on. She hadn’t expected such eager obedience.

She stood up, and water dripped in rivulets from her hair down her body. The surface of the water splashed lightly around her waist.

“Touch me,” she said, making sure her tone left no room for disagreement or question. Taking initiative didn’t come naturally to her, but once she had begun, she found it surprisingly easy. Perhaps this was who she really was, the person she had never been allowed to be before.

His hand lifted and settled against her waist. Goosebumps rose on her skin as his palm grazed over her. He looked down at her, his eyes following his own hand as it navigated down her hip and then back up, exploring edges of bones and soft curves. Zara suppressed a smile as she watched him. He looked at her body like he was mesmerized, like he couldn’t look away.

She took his hand and moved it up to the soft, heavy curve of her breast. There was a moment of hesitation, and then either obedience or hunger overcame his reluctance. Zara watched him watching his own hand on her, and then, unexpectedly, he looked up and met her eyes just as his fingers brushed over a hardened nipple. A jolt went through her. He took a step forward and his clothed body pressed against her naked one, pushing her against the side of the pool.

“Now kiss me,” she said breathlessly.

Perhaps he mistook her breathlessness as nervousness, because he hesitated again. She had no patience for that. Her body felt suddenly open and empty, craving pressure and friction.

She reached up to gather his hair in one hand, twisting it into a single long rope that she wound around her wrist. He frowned as she tightened her grip and began to pull.

“Sweet one,”she said, using a Varai term of endearment she didn’t know a translation for.“I meant to say, do it now.”