"I don't know," she whispered, the words almost tentative, afraid. She had nothing to be afraid of, not as long as he lived, and he planned to live a long life with her.

"Trust me still?" he asked, the hunger in his heart for her trust never satiated. He didn't understand what it was about it—the way she trusted—that had become both the elixir and the kryptonite of his entire being.

She nodded.

A wild rush of energy burst inside him with that one simple nod. His earlier despondency about their separation disappeared. It was temporary, anyway. As long as he had her trust, he could do everything.

He pushed the table to the side with one hand, grabbing her waist with the other and pulling her close. Her breathing escalated as he brought her over him, her weight more than what it had been when he'd found her, her curves filled out over the months under his care and her cooking but still slight. Her hands went to his bare shoulders as she straddled him, settling over his lap; his t-shirt—one of the many she had stolen from his side of the closet—ruched up around her hips, giving him an unrestricted view of her bare pussy over his groin, separated only by the fabric of his sweatpants.

Her small, soft hands moved over his shoulders, the side of his neck, her touch sure, almost proprietary, and he reveled in it—in both her possession and her quiet confidence in him.

"I don't know why you get so turned on every time," she huffed quietly, a soft smile on her face, shaking her head as if he were being ridiculous.

He tugged her closer, his hands spanning her small waist, locking their gazes. "I told you. Your trust is my high."

She just shook her head again as if the concept felt too foreign to grasp. Maybe it was. His brain was different, his thought process different, so maybe his attachment to it felt different to her too. She may not grasp it, but she accepted it, accepted him, just as he was.Now that was a foreign concept.

"Your brother and his friends are going find you," he told her, simply laying out the truth for her. Though he had no principles, no morality, no conscience as much, he didn't lie to her. It was simply a way to make her feel like the exception she was, so she would know that while he was a liar to the rest of the world, she was the only exception, the only special clause, the only one he wasrealwith.

Home. That was why she felt like the home he had never had.

The tightening of her grip on his shoulders was the first sign of her rising panic. Her face—her beautiful face that hid nothing from anyone willing to look, an open book in all languages known to humankind—fell. "What do you mean? Find me how?"

He kept his hold on her hips firm, staying steady as he revealed the facts. "Morana, your brother's girl, is a hacker. She's smart and she has been scouring the online spaces for any traces of you for a while now. I just sent her a big crumb last night."

He watched as her eyes widened, her nails digging into his muscles in a way that reminded him of sex, especially when he pushed his cock into her, that first sensation of his piercings in her pussy making her clench around him.

"Dainn." Her whisper of his name was pure panic, her emotion leaving a sour taste in his mouth. As much as he liked her tinge of fear, especially in their sexual situations, he didn't really like the taste it left him with when it was emotional terror. There was only one effective way he knew how to change her fear into something more palatable, a way that had worked in calming her every time.

He moved his neck and sucked her nipple into his mouth over the t-shirt, dampening the fabric as the bud hardened, relishing her gasp as her hands tightened on him in that familiar way.

"We need to discuss this," she stated, pushing him back. Or rather trying to.

"We are discussing it," he spoke against her breast, biting the side. Her hips tried to move, but he held it still, feeling moisture over his sweatpants where she was spread open. He moved his fingers down, feeling her juices on his skin, her essence the only one he enjoyed on himself. His digits pried her flesh open, teasing her edges but never touching her throbbing clit, never sinking inside her. A sound akin to a mewl left her throat, and he felt his lips twitch against her breast. He loved that sound, the one she made in desire and frustration when he teased her. It was a demand and a complaint mixed with lust so potent he felt high when he heard it. But this was a distraction from her fear; the conversation was something they still needed to have.

He teased the edges of her clit some more, enjoying her noises but keeping his mind on track. "The message I sent will be tracked by tomorrow," he told her, moving to her neck, knowing that the spot right under her ear sent arousal flooding in her body when stimulated. He had learned her body like his personal sacred text, worshipping at her altar every day, reciting her verses every chance he could. He knew exactly where to kiss gently to make her melt and where to bite hard to make her wet;he knew where to push, to pull, to pillage on his knees, waiting for her to bless his existence.

"Why did you do that?" she managed to get out right before a moan, drenching his fingers as he licked the spot under her ear, the scent of her skin of flowers and fire filling him.

"Because," he nuzzled her, "you want it."

"And you give me what I want? As long as it's with you?"

She knew the depths of his possessiveness well. "Yes."

She moved her hands away from his shoulders and down to his sweatpants, pushing them down and pulling his cock out. He moved his hand back to her hips as she settled herself on him, flesh to flesh, grinding over him, leaving the metal on him glistening, taking the pleasure she wanted from him as her right. With arousal, something like affection, adoration—he didn't know what it was, to be honest—but something softer, less harsh than his usual darkness, filled him as he watched hertake, watched her own both him and her own sexuality so openly, knowing the depth of trauma it held for her, marveling at her resilience, letting her have it for a moment, basking in the glory of witnessing her trust take over said trauma.

"What happens after they find me?" Her question was breathless, her hips moving sinuously with an innate fluidity that was an inherent part of her.

"They will take you back with them, I believe," he stated.

His words suddenly made her stop, the glaze of desire in her eyes dimming, replaced with moisture that felt like a knife to his ribs.

"You're letting me go?" Her lips trembled. "You'll just… leave me? You said youwouldn't."

Suddenly, she was scrambling away from him, trying to get away from him with a frantic energy he knew he needed to quell immediately. He tightened his grip on her waist with one hand, gripping her jaw with the other so she quietened and steadied,keeping his eyes fixated on hers. A tear escaped her right eye, trailing down her cheek and disappearing into his bare palm as he held her face.

"Do you really think—" he asked her quietly, his voice coming out cold at her immediately jumping to the conclusion even after all this time "—I would? That you would ever be rid of me?"