He froze, the ache in him both familiar and something entirely new. He was scared of what could happen if he kissed her again because in doing so he’d be biting into the poisoned apple, selling his soul to the sea witch—and he’d gladly take on whatever cursed despair came of it for just another taste of her.

“Johan? Kiss me,” she urged, and though her voice was gentle, it was a command, which was even sexier than her politeness.

He leaned over in his seat and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her as thoroughly as he could manage in the awkward position. Her soft lips molded to his, slick with gloss that tasted of strawberry.

She made a soft sound of surprise, but then her grip in his hair tightened, holding him as she met the stroke of his tongue with her own. A tremor ran down Johan’s spine as she tugged at his strands, her eagerness nourishing some insatiable part of him.

He licked into her mouth, greedy for the delicacy of her exhalations. He would give her anything, but he would take, too. Take the sweetness of her mouth, and the rare happiness that settled over him because she was near. Take the illusion of love and belonging that flared in him like the heat and light of the last match in an ice storm.

A cold wind whirled around him, waiting for that light to burn out, as all flames did. He ignored it as she moaned into his mouth. He ran his hand over the textured delineations of her braids, then the silky smooth of her skin. His hand cradled the back of her neck and he kissed her, slow and luxuriantly, like he was awakening from a cursed slumber.

Control? What was that? Something that existed in some other faraway kingdom, maybe. But not the one he was building with Nya.

His hands slid down around her pliant curves, and he tugged her into his lap, holding her as he kissed her without thought of ever stopping.

She gasped and sighed, teasing his desire to give her pleasure because that was what gave him pleasure. And while Johan enjoyed pleasing others in general, the insatiable need that fed on her moans and her writhing was très, très spezifisch.

He unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, slipping a hand inside to palm her breast through the thin silk of her bra. He brushed the heel of his hand over her nipple and she curved away from his touch, giggling.

“That tickles.”

He was glad she trusted him enough to tell him what felt good and what didn’t. He grew harder against her bottom and felt her gasp as he pressed into her. He pulled his hand out of her shirt, then lowered it, circling his fingertips around her stockinged knee, then her inner thigh, the circles growing concentrically as his hand moved up beneath her skirt.

“Yes, this is better,” she said. “You can move your hand higher toward my . . . peach emoji. If you want to do that.”

Her expression was somewhere between brazen and bewildered, with a heavy dose of plain embarrassment, and it was the sexiest thing Johan had ever seen. It wasn’t her inexperience; it was how she was figuring out what she wanted, despite it. How hard she worked to say what she wanted even though she had been taught to feel ashamed for just that. Still . . .

“Peach emoji? That is advanced debauchery.”

“Isn’t it, um, you know? A vagina?” She whispered the last word.

Johan tried so hard not to laugh, but he had to a little. “Maybe in your circles, but in mine, it’s a . . . derriere. I’m perfectly happy to debauch you in that way, but it requires a bit more preparation and—”

“Oh goddess!” Nya covered her eyes with one hand. “This is what I get for being unclear.”

She pulled her hand away from her face and placed it atop his through the fabric of her skirt, determination in her eyes.

“I want you to touch me. There.” She pulled his hand up. “Now. Please.”

The silky slide of her stockings under his palm as she guided his hand was nice, but he wished it was her soft skin instead. He cupped his hand over her mound, kissing away her gasp as he pressed two firm fingers into her clit.

“Comme tu willst,” he murmured against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice thready. “Your hands are so strong. Do you play piano? Because they are—”

Johan switched up his pace from fast and shallow to slow and deep, and she stopped her ridiculous yet arousing dirty talk then, arching in his lap. Her eyes and mouth and everything in her expression were squeezed hard, but her hips moved in his lap, teasing him.

“Mmph.” Her shoe fell off as one of her legs kicked up seemingly of its own accord, and then she turned her head into the lapel of his jacket, letting out a moan that vibrated through him at the same frequency she shuddered against him. Then she was suddenly limp, curled up in his lap with her face still pressed into her chest. Her warm breath passed through his jacket and shirt as she calmed herself.

“Um. Good work. Thank you.” She tilted her head up and kissed him on his chin.

He heard the door opening, somewhere behind the roar of his own want.

“Hallo, Jo— Oh! Pardon me, pardon me,” Greta said, pink rising beneath the golden apples of her cheeks. She raised her tablet to block her view of them. “I assume this is your ‘fiancée’? Congratulations to you both, and I must say that you’re really going the extra mile to keep up appearances.”

Nya’s hands pressed against his chest as she jumped out of his lap, and Johan held on to her fingertips as she toddled to her feet, reluctant to let her go.