Reaching for the hem of her T-shirt, he skimmed his hands up her bare legs, over the curve of her buttocks as he bunched the garment around her waist. He rolled her onto her back, covering her with his body as he did so, and her eyes flew open in shock. For a moment he imagined she would end it, but longing glazed her eyes again. He captured her mouth with his before she could have another moment of doubt. She believed he was her last chance at happiness, so he couldn’t help but wonder if she was his, as well. If that was true, then he needed this.

She lifted her hips against his awkwardly, her brow creasing in frustration above her closed eyes. He leaned back, concentrating his gaze on the seam in the hem of the T-shirt. If he looked anywhere else, at the questioning on her flushed face, at the dark hair shadowing the junction of her thighs, he might think, might talk himself out of this.

Cyrus glanced across the darkened room to the stairs, but he knew no one would be watching. None of them would dare come down after the fate that had befallen their comrades.

Mouse rose on her elbows and helped him pull the shirt over her head. That moment of bravery was short-lived, fleeing once she was exposed before him. She folded her arms across her breasts. With shaking hands, he guided them away, leaving her bare to his gaze. Her chest jerked with her harsh breathing. Though the room was not cold, her skin puckered with gooseflesh and the rosy peaks of her nipples hardened.

Cyrus covered one breast with the palm of his hand and Mouse moaned, arching into his touch. He fought the temptation to compare her to the others, the ones he’d seduced into giving up their bodies and their lives. This was different. When this night was over, she would still be at his side. It was a frightening, comforting thought.

He dipped his head to her neck and kissed the hollow of her throat. When his lips strayed to the yellowing bruise where he’d bitten her that first night, she didn’t tense, but he stopped cold.

She touched his back, dragging her fingertips across the skin of his shoulders. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to.”

“I did.” He rolled off of her. “I meant to hurt you. I enjoyed it.”

The gentle understanding in her eyes sent a spear of self-loathing through his heart.

She reached for her discarded shirt and held it to her chest. “I forgive you.”

He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened him. Could something as simple as her absolution save him from himself? He doubted it. Maybe he would always doubt his ability to be good.