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Tristan froze, his eyes now wholly focused on our hands, his fingers, and what lay beneath.

“I love how protective you are of me,” I said, my breath catching as his fingers brushed against me.

He swallowed. “I love you. You know that.”

“I know.”

“Just the idea of you being hurt, being in danger….” He pressed his knuckles against my center. I widened my legs, gently pushing his hand lower. His hand moved down, his palm opening to cup me through my pants and rubbing up and down. “It drives me farther than Lethea.”

My breath hitched, and I let out a small moan, playing along as my fingers trailed up his forearm, digging in, spurring him on.

“Is there anything else I need to know?” He pressed his palm harder against me, fingers switching to a circular motion.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the feel of his fingers. I was numb. But I knew he needed this. We needed this. I exhaled sharply, focusing my world on his hand, on its movement, on the pressure he was creating, on the flow of blood slowly beginning to heat and bring my body to life. I felt the energy in his aura relax; it was no longer pulsing with anger, hurt, and confusion, but desire. As I turned toward him, I caught the scent of mint and salt from the ocean.

Disappointment washed over me. I’d wanted musk and pine.

“I’m adding on extra practices,” I said, moving my hand back down to cover his, urging him to use even more pressure, driving the circles faster.

“All right,” he said. There was an uncertainty to his words, and his fingers paused. “What does that mean?”

Everything in my body ached, but not in the way I wanted it to. “I have three months.” His hand moved up the seam of my pants, and his fingers pushed up my tunic, exposing my belly and sliding along my waistband to just below my navel. I breathed deep, my belly rising and falling against him. “And you saw what it was like out there.”

He brushed his fingers back and forth across my stomach, sliding them lower, but only a little. He was teasing, waiting.

“So, longer days?” Tristan asked, voice rough.

“And weekends,” I said. “I’ll have to excuse myself from most social events.”

His jaw tensed, and I leaned in toward him, drawing my mouth to his.

“It’s not forever,” I whispered against his lips. “Just until Valyati. Three months.” I kissed him, but Tristan kept his mouth closed, his lips hardened together. I pulled back, my gaze questioning. “You saw what it’s like. You know how behind I am. So until I pass the Emperor’s test,” my mouth went dry, “I may need to be…scarce.”

“Extra training,” he said.

I nodded, writhing my belly against his hand, urging him to keep going, to forget what had happened tonight, to let it go, to make me forget, to make me feel.

“Please,” I said. “Tristan.”

But his hand was still, refusing to do what I needed, refusing to offer me any relief or signal that he was all right with everything that was happening, that he was all right with me.

“Not with him,” he said, his voice dark.

“What?”

“The extra training, studying, whatever you need to do, do it. But not with him. I forbid you.” Tristan kissed me, his tongue sweeping against my lips. Our kiss deepened. His fingers finally slipped beneath my waistband, reaching down until they were against my bared skin, where they ran up and down my center before moving in slow, sensuous circles. “Not with the forsworn,” he said, increasing the pressure. “He trains you for official Academy hours, and that’s it.”

“Tristan,” I protested.

He slipped a finger inside of me, his palm against my center. I arched my back, gasping from both the sudden pleasure he’d evoked and the pain in my back. I could feel the pressure of Tristan’s finger inside of me…and I could feel the agony of the Imperator’s finger inside my wounds. I cried out, no longer sure what was making me cry. It seemed like pleasure and pain were the same when it came to my life now. One always caused the other. One couldn’t exist without its opposite bearing down on me.

He increased his speed, as I braced myself on the couch, my fingers digging into the cushion, my hips rocking against his hand. I was desperate for relief, for something to finally feel good after having been tortured. His mouth was hot on my neck, his kisses repeating the same demand as anger began to vibrate through the lust in his aura.

Some inner part of me rebelled. He had no right to make such demands or to have any say in my training or how I survived these months. But he wasn’t supposed to know about my agreement with Rhyan. He wasn’t supposed to know Rhyan was the one training me in secret. Tristan never could know—not if we were both going to stay safe.

Tristan slid a second finger inside me, each thrust repeating his demands.Not. With. Him.

I arched.