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“Absolutely.” I cup his hands — they’re cool. “Are you cold, sweets?”

“I feel fine.” He smiles hazily at me.

“He can’t keep warm on-stage. Get him wrapped up,” Bear says gruffly. “I’m going to run the demo.”

I’m worried I’m gonna do something wrong if Bear leaves, but Lysander reaches for me and it’s just natural to get on the couch and pull him into my arms. I arrange the blanket aroundboth of us — he’ll be warmer with my body heat. Slowly, his shivering subsides.

“Drink some of this.” I reach behind myself awkwardly and grab the handle of the mug.

Lysander sits up and takes it with both hands. His eyes drift shut as he sips. “Was scared you’d leave. It’s not our day.”

Our day.My heart squeezes. I’m in trouble, alright.

“Nah, I just stepped off the floor for a few minutes.” There’s no reason to let him in on the mess inside my head. “You warmer now?”

“Yes. Thank you.” His eyes are clearer, which makes me feel better.

“You seemed pretty deep under. Is it always like that?”

“You try getting tied up and hung from the ceiling,” he says with a soft snort.

“I wouldn’t look half as good as you,” I joke, and a smile flickers across his mouth.

This room is obviously for play, but from the couch it’s hard to tell. It’s cleverly designed—when the lights are down all the instruments and hooks and the velvet bench in the periphery become almost invisible. Outside the warm circle of lamplight all I can see are shadows. Still, the knowledge of where we are and what’s going on outside keeps me from totally relaxing.

Lysander is lit like a painting, the pale green of his skin fading to deeper green under the lace costume. It’s exactly as sheer as it looked when he held it up and it hugs every angle, the pattern perfectly fitted to his slender hips and squarish shoulders. He might be slim and pretty, but he’s most definitely male. And just like when I’m in his bed, my cock stirs in response.

He leans over me and puts the mug down, and instead of putting distance between us he lies back down on me, resting his head on my collar. His long, slender ear presses into the crook ofmy neck and his warmth seeps through my shirt. Goosebumps race up and down my arms. Now that he’s back to himself I’m treading on dangerous territory again. To distract myself, I start talking.

“What’s it like up there?”

Lysander hums, a vibration that goes all the way through me. He curls his slender knees onto the couch so more of his weight falls on my chest. “It’s hard to explain. Have you ever been helpless?”

I don’t have to think back far. “Yeah. I have.”

“What was it like for you?”

It sucked.

“Hard,” I tell him. “It made me feel… small.”

He nods, his silky hair brushing my neck. “Imagine if it did the opposite. Imagine if you were helpless, but it was exactly where you wanted to be because someone you trust made the decision for you. When I’m suspended, I feel strong and free. Because I chose to let it happen.”

There’s no one I’d trust to make that kind of decision for me. Ididtrust someone like that once. Traveling backward through the bad times, there was a time when trusting Jasper didn’t feel like putting a noose around my neck. In the early days, it made my chest swell and my heart sing to do exactly what he told me and get that condescending, dog-pat praise from him. Before I grew up.

Lysander looks up at me. “Your heart is beating faster.”

I can’t help a wry smile. “Brought back memories.”

“Bad ones,” he surmises.

“It’s okay.”

“I was born with only three wings,” he says, letting his head fall again. His hand comes up to rest over my heart, and I swallow. The room is quiet and cozy, but my body is telling me I’m standing on the edge of a cliff without a parachute. “Fairiesdon’t truly fly, not like harpies. We can only go short distances, like up into the forest canopy or across a river. But with my abnormal wings, I could never even get off the ground. I always wondered what it was like to fly. This is the closest I’ll get.”

I pull the blanket up to disguise the sudden swell of emotion that threatens to overtake me. Lysander falls silent. The soundproofing in the red room is impeccable, so the silence is only broken by his soft breathing. Slowly, it evens — then it grows deeper. I stroke my thumb across his smooth shoulder. I think he’s asleep when he stirs again.

“Ezra,” he whispers.