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“Sy?” I say, breathing heavily when I tear myself away. Remy and Nick are still at the gym closing up from Screw Year’s Eve, but I don’t need them here to remember the discussion we had weeks ago. “Have you ever thought about… wanting kids?” As soon as the question leaves my lips, a rush of heat rises to my cheeks.

Sy’s answer is quick. “No.”Tooquick. Offering me a guilty smile, he confesses, “I do have a name picked out though.”

I freeze, eyes popping wide. “You do?”

Nodding, he says, “Victor.” And before that can fully sink in, he adds, “Or Victoria. Between you and me, I’d prefer a Victoria. I think we have enough testosterone around here, don’t you?”

“Victoria.” I say the word like it’s some alien tongue I’ve never heard before.

Pausing, Sy tilts his head. “You hate it,” he guesses, eyebrows lowering into a scowl. “I guess it’s pretty cliche.”

“No, I—” Pushing two fingers against his lips, I try to speak past the tightness in my throat. “Sy, it’s perfect.”

You name them, you get attached.

The hard line of his jaw softens. “Maybe some day, huh?”

“Yeah, Big Bear.” Wrapping my arms around him, I rest my cheek on his chest, indulging in thethuh-thumpof his heartbeat. “Some day.” The moment stretches on. I feel his chin on the top of my head. The warmth of his breath in my hair. The swell of his chest against my aching cheek.

To the victor, indeed.

“In the meantime…” I say, drawing away to reach for the bottle on the nightstand.

His eyes narrow. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

I bounce the bottle of lube casually in my palm, giving him a wink. “I figure you and I can do a little training on our own. Work up to it? Just like old times.”

It’s strange to think I’d want much of the old times back, but I have to admit to missing the raw charm of our past fumbling. Everything was more complicated then, but our bodies always knew what they wanted.

He takes the lube, mouth pursed skeptically as he reads the label, putting the pieces together.

My ass was always his.

He just has to conquer it.

“I’m not the one who should get spoils.” Glancing up at me, he raises an eyebrow.

“Then don’t consider it a spoil,” I say, pulling off my tank top. “Consider it a lesson on obeying your Queen.”

A slow, devious smile springs to his lips. “Baby, I live to serve.”