Page 35 of Primal Surrender

She removed the toy, placing it on a velvet cloth. The glass caught the light, sending blue reflections dancing across Kronos’s face as he studied it with obvious approval. I couldn’t stop staring at his hands as he picked it up, his long fingers wrapping around it in a way that made my stomach clench with want.

She explained its features in such clinical terms that it almost—almost—felt less mortifying. Until she got to the part about different settings, and Kronos’s low hum of approval made my stomach flip.

“Would you like it gift wrapped?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“That won’t be necessary,” Kronos replied, his voice dropping to that register that always made heat pool low in my belly. “We won’t be waiting that long to use it.”

The discrete black bag she handed us might as well have been transparent for how exposed I felt carrying it. Kronos’s hand never left my lower back as we exited the shop.

The cold February air hit me like a shock after the warmth of the store, bringing me back to myself. Then Kronos’s lips found the sensitive spot below my ear, and reality blurred again.

“Now,” he said as we reached his motorcycle, “what do you say we head home and start your birthday celebration properly?”

“You can’t say things like that when we’re about to get on your bike,” I muttered, already uncomfortably hard in my jeans. The weight of the black bag making it impossible to think of anything but what was coming.

His laugh was rich and dark. “Can’t I?” He pressed the bag into my hands before swinging onto the motorcycle. “Hold on tight, and try not to squirm too much.”

“¡Ay yo, Papi!” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes at his teasing.

Kronos paused, one eyebrow raised as he looked back at me. “What did you just call me?”

Heat flooded my face as I realized how it must have sounded to him. “No—it’s not—it’s just an expression!” I stammered. “It’s something Puerto Ricans say when we’re exasperated. Like ‘oh my god’ or ‘give me strength.’”

His slow, predatory smile made my stomach flip. “Is that so? Because I rather liked it.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to that register that always made my knees weak. “Feel free to call me that again later, when we’re putting your birthday gift to use.”

I groaned, mortified and aroused in equal measure. “You’re impossible.”

The ride back to his brownstone felt endless. Every turn, every slight acceleration pressed me against his back, my arms wrapped around his waist. He took one hand off the handlebars at a stoplight, covering mine where it rested on his stomach, guiding it just lower before returning to driving. The casual touch, the implied promise, made my breath catch.

Kronos took the long way home, hitting every bump in the cobblestone streets. Each jolt sent friction through my already sensitive body. By the time we pulled up to his building, I was practically vibrating.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, voice low as he helped me off the bike. His fingers lingered on my hips, steadying me, though he was the reason I was unsteady in the first place.

“Cold,” I lied.

His knowing smirk told me he wasn’t fooled. “We should get you inside, then. Warm you up properly.”

When we pulled up to his building, my legs were shaky for reasons that had nothing to do with the ride. He caught me as I dismounted, pulling me close.

“Eager?” he asked softly.

“Maybe a lot,” I admitted, clutching the bag tighter. The way his eyes darkened made heat pool in my stomach.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” he murmured, leading me toward the door.

He led me up to his apartment, that predatory grace making each step feel charged with anticipation. When we entered, I stopped short. The coffee table held a crystal bowl filled with what looked like handmade marshmallows—tiny, perfect cubes dusted with something that sparkled.

“You made these?” I asked, distracted by the weight of the black bag in my hand. I thought about the night in his kitchen when he’d cooked for me, when I’d first admitted my aversion to marshmallows. He’d remembered.

“Mmhm.” He picked one up, holding it to my lips. “Rosewater and vanilla bean. Thought it was time to change your opinion about certain textures.”

The marshmallow melted on my tongue—nothing like the store-bought kind I hated. This was pure silk, subtle floral notes mixed with rich vanilla. “Oh,” I breathed.

“See?” His thumb brushed sugar from my lower lip, lingering there as our eyes locked. “Some things that seem intimidating at first…” His eyes flicked to the bag I was still clutching, “can be exactly what you want.” He pressed another marshmallow to my lips. “Better than expected?” His voice held that darkly playful note that made my skin prickle with anticipation.

“Maybe you’re right about trying new things,” I admitted, heat crawling up my neck as he traced the black bag with his free hand.

“Speaking of…”He guided me to lie back on the couch, his weight settling over me in a way that made my breath catch. “Let me show you how sweet surrender can be.”

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