There is something extra endearing today when she giggles, a swell of pride and protectiveness when he thinks how comfortable she is with him and no one else. Something else, too, a jolt of hunger and pleasure that she’s his and only his.

How could she not know he wants to worship her, he wonders as she shifts to setting in the throne, still holding him close by that lead. He doesn’t want her to stop, and when she looks up at him and bites her lip, he feels like he’d move the world for her if she asked. It makes his knees weak that she has so much power over him, and yet he’s not scared in the least.

And then she tells him to ask, and want jolts through him so strongly it nearly hurts. Breathless and grinning, he gets down on his knees, shifting so his face is tantalizingly close to her pelvis. “Please, my flower of life,” he says, low and husky. His hands rest on her knees, those jewels still tugging at his neck, and he turns to kiss her thigh. “I wish to worship at you.” There’s absolutely no doubt in his mind she wants him to, and yet his heart races as he asks, like he’s getting away with something, like it’s their first time losing each other again.