Page 110 of Taming Seraphine

She scowls. “You said I could.”

I scoff.

“How do you think I took off that long-sleeved shirt? You helped.”

My brows pull together. Seraphine isn’t strong enough to roll me over, raise my arms above my head, and remove my shirt without my cooperation, but I would have remembered undressing for her.

“I asked for permission,” she adds, sounding petulant.

That sounds oddly familiar. She did ask to take off my pants, and she stopped when I didn’t agree. Groaning, I run my fingers through my hair, not believing there’s a part of me that wants her to get me naked.

“What was your end game?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“If I had let you pull down my pants, what would have come next?”

She hesitates.

I turn around to look her full in the face.

She shrinks back, her cheeks flushed, the pretty pink shade spreading down her neck and across her breasts. Fuck. She looks so sweet and vulnerable that I feel like a dog for letting her sleep in my bed.

Questions burn in the back of my mind, but they’re all inappropriate. I want to know if she had a boyfriend before she became a captive, but it’s none of my goddamned business. She was a child, and anything that happened after that wasn’t with her consent.

Despite knowing this, I ask anyway, “Am I the first man you’ve gotten close to that you haven’t wanted to kill?”

“Who says I don’t want to kill you?” she asks with a huff. “You’re always blowing hot and cold, then breaking your own rules. It’s infuriating.”

I hold back a smile and keep my features even. “Want to say that again?”

“What?” she asks, sounding petulant.

My brow hikes even further to my hairline.

She looks away, her cheeks still flushed. “Nothing.”

I crack my neck, roll my shoulders, and remind myself that Seraphine isn’t a brat in the truest sense. She’s experienced more trauma than I can even comprehend. If she’s acting up, I have to treat her with compassion.

And a firm hand.

She shifts on the mattress, her fingers twisting around each other to form knots. “You’re the first man I’ve ever wanted.” She takes a deep breath and stares up at the ceiling. “Before you, I’d never been attracted to anyone.”

My breath hitches.

She turns to me and asks, “Is that wrong?”

“It’s normal to have feelings for someone who pulled you out of a terrible situation,” I say, my words measured. “I’m also helping you learn to control your impulses, making me a teacher, but I’m still holding you captive.”

She huffs a bitter laugh. “I haven’t got hero worship syndrome, teacher’s pet syndrome, or Stockholm syndrome. Can’t you just accept that I think you’re hot and you give me orgasms?”

Pressure builds up between my eyes and I curl my hands into fists. She’s making some excellent points. “Seraphine,” I say with a sigh. “It’s just a crush. I’m the only man you’ve met in half a decade who hasn’t tried to abuse you.”

“How do you explain your near constant erections?”

My jaw clenches. She’s got me there.

“I know you want me, too.” She shifts on the mattress and closes the distance between us. “I’ve seen the way you look at me and all the things you say when you’re giving me my rewards. You want me, too.”

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