His strangled voice rumbled near her ear, the desperation behind it mingling with the image. “Let go, malyshka. Accept where you belong.”

Release rang through her. Sent her body soaring and her pussy grasping his hard shaft.

His own shout rang out. Agony. Relief. Triumph and gratitude. So much emotion coiling around her. Every bit of it as strong and powerful as the man who held her.

She couldn’t go back from this. Didn’t want to. And the truth of it shook her to her very core. Frightening as it was, he seemed meant for her. Always had. And as much as she’d tried to fight it—had been afraid of the connection—she couldn’t refuse it anymore.

Her arms shook, and her body shuddered, the wake of their combined release making the warm water seem cool in comparison.

The rhythm of his hips slowed. A languid, easy pace overtaking the wildness and guiding them both back to earth. To now and the new reality she’d accepted even if she hadn’t spoken it out loud.

Gingerly, he eased one of her feet to the cool tile. Then the other. His hands against her skin were a constant comfort. Each skim of his lips against her cheek—her eyes and temples—a show of devotion. A demonstration of love and connection without a single word spoken.

He rested his forehead against hers, and his voice was little more than a shaky whisper. “Taking you was not my intent.”

So honest. Open and vulnerable. More so than she imagined he’d ever been with anyone.

She trailed her fingers along the back of his neck. “Well, it was my gift. You can’t take it back.”

He lifted his head and met her stare, the depth of solemnity behind his gaze staggering. “How could I? I am lost to you.”

Her beautiful man.

Hers.

Completely.

The depth of the realization must have played across her face, because he ducked his head, a shyness she’d never have expected driving his actions as he eased away and turned off the faucets.

Without his body to keep away the chill or their connection to keep her grounded, she shivered.

He snatched the towel hanging just outside the glass and quickly wrapped it around her, drying her with careful gentleness. Only when he was certain the cold would no longer cause her discomfort did he grab another towel and see to himself in quick, perfunctory movements. He tossed his towel aside, gathered her in his arms and padded to the bedroom.

While sunset was still an hour or more away, the sun had slipped behind neighboring trees and cast an easy shade on the room, shadows and the promise of night matching the languor of her muscles.

Kir settled her beneath the bedsheets, crawled in beside her and nestled her in the crook of his arm. Beneath her ear, his heart hammered a steady rhythm. A cadence that helped her own pulse find steadiness.

Wrapping his arms around her, he caressed her back and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll see to it your reputation is cleared.” He paused a moment as though searching for the right words. “Just promise me you’ll consider what I’ve asked.”