He unwrapped an energy bar, folded her fingers around it, and pulled her legs over his lap. Then he regarded her, one hand curled around her calf. Not eating, he seemed content with watching and waiting.

After a few deliberating moments and two energy bars, she told him everything. Her kidnapping. Her slave training. The loss of her virginity. The day she was sold. The pregnancy and the scar.

He listened without interrupting, his hand soothing the shivers along her leg, his eyes unwavering. She maintained a steady monologue until she reached the part about Mattie’s adoption and the conditions of her arrangement. Her voice thickened, and her heart ached with memories and longing. “The videos are the only assurance he gives me.”

“Which is why you wanted your phone. No text is good news?”

She nodded, crumbling under the reminder that she still had a job to do and a slave she couldn’t train. His attention honed on her change in breathing and the wobble in her chin.

He gathered her in his lap and scooted to lean against the wall. He touched her brow, her cheek, and the line of her neck, the tenderness melting her against his solid body. “You know exactly how I felt when you locked me in the box, huh?”

Guilt squeezed her gut. “Which makes what I did a hundred times worse.” She stared at him, miserable and conflicted about what to do next. “I’m so sorry.”

His hands gripped her waist, lifting her and adjusting her legs to straddle his hips.

“What are you—”

His thumbs pressed against her lips, his palms cupping her jaw. Bound by the strength of his gaze, her body went completely still as his thumbs parted, sliding over her cheeks to join his fingers. There was no hint of harshness in his demeanor. His eyes shifted between hers and dropped to her mouth. His lips parted.

Oh God, was he going to kiss her? A sudden rush of hope blasted through her, and she rode that gust, the filthy perimeter of her existence sweeping away. He lowered his head, and she could only squeeze her eyes shut and anticipate the connection, his acceptance, and maybe his forgiveness.

His lips touched hers, achingly sweet, soft, cautious. A chill replaced the sensation as he leaned back. His breath released, taking hers with it. She shuddered and opened her eyes.

They stared at one another, faces just a kiss apart, and it was the most intimate moment she’d ever experienced. As he looked at her, the pale glow of his eyes softened, asking without words, Is this okay?

She nodded, her body liquefying in the cradle of his lap, molding against his tense abs and thighs.

His fingers flexed on her back, and he swept forward, taking her mouth, opening her lips with the warm flesh of his. Beneath the spice of toothpaste, she tasted his natural purity, his breath flavored with sweetness and hope.

With his hands spread over the rise of her ass, he pulled her closer, kissing her deeply, his tongue chasing and tangling with hers. She devoured the heat of his mouth, the strength of his embrace, the precision of his movements. Neither submissive nor forceful, he clutched her hips and controlled the rock of her pelvis. His strong jaw guided the speed and motion of her mouth, his lips burning a trail of sparks as his whiskers scratched a pleasurable twinge across her skin.

His chest heaved, and a moan rumbled in his throat. She savored the response, wanted to hear more, feel him closer. She wanted to crawl inside of him. She slid her hands down his chest and slipped under the hem. Gliding back up the warm taut brawn of his abs and the velvet skin wrapping his pecs, she paused over the beat of his heart against her palm.

He gripped her nape, angled her head, and intensified the kiss. She didn’t know if it was her emotional exhaustion or if he was more experienced than she’d thought, but his mastery over her was assured and exquisite. Every lick and nibble tingled through her body, curling her toes against his thighs, racing her heart, and fuzzing her brain.

Too soon, they came up for air. After a few noisy breaths, she gave him a smile, which he returned with warmth and affection.

“Wow.” She shook her muddled head. “You’ve done that a lot, haven’t you?”

He captured her lips again, his mouth just as maddening and curling, leaving her body shivering when he finished. “Kissing is the only thing I can do.”

Her heart pinched. Unfortunately, her bladder, too, but she refused to leave the embrace of his arms. Emotions swept through her as she snuggled against his chest, swirling her thoughts into a jumbled knot. She wasn’t ready to voice her worries and ruin the moment, but he did it for her.

“Does Van know Mr. E’s identity?”

Their eyes met and she nodded.

“Do you?”

She traced his strong jaw, the whiskers rasping against her finger. He held still as she followed the smooth skin stretching over his cheekbones, between his enchanting eyes and disappearing beneath the soft inky hue of his hairline. His beauty had the power to enthrall and distract.

She dropped her hand. “If I knew Mr. E’s identity, we wouldn’t be sitting here.” She would’ve tracked him down. Perhaps he had a family she could’ve threatened. “Van claims he’s only seen beneath the mask once, when Mr. E lured him from his mother’s meth house. I have my doubts.” Her bladder prodded again.

Something shifted through his eyes, and his jaw twitched. “Mr. E basically pushed you into my arms last night.” His embrace tightened around her, punctuating his point. “Why would he do that? And I see the way Van watches you. Why would Van let him do that?”

The answers weren’t simple, most of which were based on her own theories. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He carried her to the toilet. She might’ve refused out of pride if she weren’t so reluctant to leave his arms. He lowered her to the rim and squatted before her.

Her head spun from the sudden loss of his supportive strength, but she still mustered a glare when he propped his chin on a fist and settled in.

“You look like you’re about to fall over.” His tone was gentle.

Too tired to argue, she closed her eyes and released her bladder. “Van may not agree with everything Mr. E does, but he’s never challenged him. He loves the cocksucker like a father.” She glanced up and found him observing her steadily.

The set of his jaw matched the hardness of his eyes. “Van thinks he loves you.”

That truth didn’t need acknowledgment. She flushed the toilet and moved to the shower. “Mr. E’s actions aren’t always transparent. Last night was the first time he’d ever raised a hand against me. Other than…” She touched the scar on her cheek and turned the tap to warm.

He sat against the wall outside the open shower as she undressed and washed. Her movements were robotic, but her thoughts were an utter mess. Now that he knew her situation, what was he willing to do?

She needed to know where his head was. “Maybe Mr. E pushed us together to wrangle your sympathy for me, a ploy to persuade you to do what needs to be done, using me as leverage.”

Though his eyes followed the motion of her hands, they were unfocused, turned inward.

“He’s never attempted anything like this.” It seemed too complicated to be worth the effort. As she washed her belly and thighs, she lay a soapy hand over the horizontal c-section scar below her bikini line. It was one scar she wished hadn’t faded. “Honestly, I don’t know why he’s kept me alive all these years.”

“Do you have sex with Van privately? Or do you just screw him in front of your slaves?” Quiet words at odds with his finger digging restlessly at a frayed hole in his jeans.

Her throat convulsed, her stomach caving with humiliation. Was he regretting the kiss they’d just shared? He wasn’t glaring at her with judgment or pumping his muscles with jealousy. But he’d also been raised to approach problems with civility and grace. She shut off the water and faced him, wet and naked, with a quiver in her voice. “It’s complicated.”