What is wrong with you?

Famine pauses. “Ana?” he asks, and I want to laugh at the uncertainty in his voice.

It takes an embarrassing amount of strength, but I drag my hands away from my eyes. I don’t know if he can see my tears in the darkness, but—

Famine’s brow wrinkles as he takes me in. “Are you crying?” I can tell he doesn’t know what to make of me.

“Yes,” I admit.

Famine frowns. “Do you want me to stop?” he says, clearly not understanding why I’m upset.

“God no.”

He stares at me longer. There’s very little softness to this man, and yet, right now, he’s being excruciatingly compassionate.

“I’m not human,” he says. “I don’t understand what you’re thinking. Explain your mind.”

I blow out a breath. “My clients—they never treated me like this.” Not even Martim.

Sex always felt like an exchange. I was a prostitute. I wasn’t getting paid to be adored. I was getting paid to slack someone’s lust.

Famine’s expression changes, becoming empathetic—so, so empathetic. I think, when it comes to pain and vulnerability, he sees me more clearly than anyone else ever has.

That warm, uncomfortable feeling blooms low in my belly. This time, I don’t fight it.

The horseman brushes back my hair, his eyes moving between mine.

“Tonight,” he says softly, “you’re going to forget all the ways you were mistreated. I’m going to make sure of it.”

Chapter 41

He doesn’t lead, but he doesn’t wait for me to lead either. Rather, every touch is met with another touch.

I stare at him in wonder as he removes my boots and the last of my dress before shucking off his own shoes and pants.

How Famine is acting right now goes against everything he’s led me to believe. He shouldn’t be sentimental—there’s no room for sentimentality in that dark heart of his—and yet he’s handling me like I’m precious to him.

Naked, he kneels at my feet. He takes one of my ankles and presses a kiss to it, running his lips over my skin.

Jesus, he’s going to drag this out. It’s probably not the best night to drag this out; the rain didn’t wash away all the mud and blood on my skin …

I reach for him, ready to speed things up.

Famine catches my hands and, twining his fingers between mine, he pins my arms above my head, draping himself over me. I can feel his hard cock pinned between us.

He kisses me softly. “No tricks,” he murmurs against my lips. He pulls away long enough for our eyes to meet.

After a moment, I nod.

At my response, he releases my hands. His mouth returns to kissing my skin, moving down from my lips to my chin to my clavicles, sternum, and breasts.

I close my eyes against his kisses, drinking them in. Each press of his lips is unspeakably tender. This is a side of him that I didn’t know existed—that I hadn’t imagined could exist—and it’s doing strange things to me.

I slide my palms over Famine’s shoulders, marveling at his smooth flesh. This body of his has seen and felt so much pain, and unlike me, he has nothing to show for it. No scars, no disfigurement, just an alarming amount of nightmarish memories.

I twine my legs around his, the pads of my feet skimming over the back of his calves, trying to feel every part of him at once. My heart feels too big for my chest.

He slides his hands over my skin, breaking off his kisses to just look at me. It’s the oddest thing in the world, seeing him marvel at my form like he’s discovering desire for the first time. His gaze moves to my eyes, and at his expression, I still.

I don’t simply exist, he once said, I hunger.

I see his desire now so clearly, but it’s not as simple as most of the lustful looks men have given me in the past. There’s a deeper element to it, and I remember something else he said to me.

Not everything is about sex, flower.

What else is going on behind those green eyes of his? Could it be … could he feel more for me?

I force away the thought before it can sink its claws in.

Famine’s fingers move to my core. The moment they touch, a naughty smile teases his lips.

“And here I thought I’d have to ready you,” he says, running his finger around my entrance.

Clearly he’s underestimating my own desire.

He moves his hand away, and adjusts himself until I feel his cock right at my entrance.

He stares down at me, and God, he’s utterly magnificent; his glyphs illuminate those wicked lips of his and set his eyes aglow. Several strands of his hair hang down, and if I weren’t so caught up in this moment, I might actually tuck them behind his ears.

But it’s not just his beauty that’s captivated me. He’s not wearing the haughty mask he usually does during the day; he hasn’t been ever since he saved me. He looks just as exposed and vulnerable as I feel.

“Flower …”

He tilts his hips as he gazes down at me, and his cock slowly begins to push in.

I suck in a breath at the sensation of being stretched and filled, and—aww, shit—I think I’m about to have another moment.

My throat tightens, and my eyes prick.

Am I seriously going to cry right when my pussy is getting its first real taste of heaven? Is this who I’ve become?

Famine is looking down at me like I’m some sort of miracle he’s stumbled upon and I have to bite back a sob.

Yep, apparently this is who I’ve become.

My hands move to my face again.

Don’t want him to see me like this.

Famine takes my hands and moves them away from my face.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says. “All I want is to see you right now.”

His words are unbearably kind, which is the last thing my sensitive heart needs right now.

A tear slips out.

He frowns at the sight of it. “Why are you crying?” There’s a note of alarm in his voice. His hips have stilled, and it’s the worst sort of agony.

I close my eyes for a moment. “It’s nothing.”

“Open your eyes.” The alarm is still in the Reaper’s voice.

Reluctantly, I do. Whatever he sees on my face causes his brows to draw together. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything. Nothing.”

This is unlike any experience I’ve ever had, and already he’s ruined me, completely ruined me, for sex. My career as a prostitute is finished.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

“No.”

He looks unconvinced.

Damnit, I’m going to have to tell him something.

I take a deep breath. “I just … I’ve had so many letdowns in my life, and this … this feels too good to be true. And I feel like you can see everything on my face.” Which is ironic, considering how little light there is in this room.

The Famine I met weeks ago would’ve openly mocked me for this. A part of me is certain he’s going to mock me now.

Only … there’s no judgment in his expression. But his eyes hold a heavy sort of understanding. It makes me think that his own pain runs deep enough to recognize mine.

I see his throat work as he searches my face. “Ana …”