What was he doing? Arsenic tamped down a sense of rising panic as he carried Farrah up to her room, hoping some part of him would come to his senses and stop the irreversible course he was on.

But he was powerless to stop now, not only because the dragon inside him would do anything to have her, but because she’d said she needed him.

Being needed was his ultimate weakness. Giving her anything she needed was the reason he breathed.

If she wanted him this way, even if it would hurt him in the long run, even if she had to forget him, he would give it to her and try to think of her pleasure overall.

And Drakkaris help him if he regretted it later.

When they reached the bedroom, he set her down and she opened the door, leading the way inside, stripping off her robe and pajamas as she went.

He was mesmerized as more of her body came into view, feeling like a man coming out of an underwater cave who was seeing a sunrise for the first time.

Her body was slender but curved, and though he’d never preferred slimness to curves, he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than Farrah was now.

His mate, stripping fearlessly and standing before him, lightly dotted skin glowing, wearing only some kind of chest wear that supported her small breasts and white underwear he’d heard called panties.

She looked so small but so strong as she leaned back on her hands and looked up at him, a challenge in her blue eyes, her hair adorably ruffled from sleep.

The monster in him was fully awake, but he kept it at bay, determined not to do anything but what she asked.

She wasn’t his for the taking. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But he could pretend, at least for this moment.

“Come here,” she said, gesturing for him to join her on the bed. He walked forward, and she grabbed him by the collar of his robe and pulled him onto the bed with her. He fell over her, careful to catch himself on his hands so he didn’t land on her and crush her.

She smiled up from beneath him, and her hands eagerly pulled at the belt of his robe, untying it and pulling at the sleeves to yank the robe off of him.

He smiled and made no effort to help her, enjoying her frustrated little noises and the tiny break they were both given as she struggled to strip him.

Then she let out a little mewl of frustration, and he kissed her forehead and sat back on his knees to pull off the robe and pull his shirt over his head, making things easier for her.

Her eyes took in his chest greedily, the muscles honed from years of work and practice, a lifetime of horror that all seemed worth it now if it led him to be here with her, able to be with her for even a short time.

Then her hands reached for the waist of his pants, tugging there hungrily.

“Not yet,” he said, leaning forward over her, pushing her hands away and wrapping a hand around her neck to pull her into a kiss. He let their bodies press together, skin to semi-dressed skin, softness against hardness, strength to vulnerability.

He kissed her until she hopefully understood how seriously he was taking this. Kissed her until she was gasping, pushing on his chest and then scrabbling at his shoulders in pleasure.

He loved the feel of her nails, her breath as she panted, her soft little tongue that fought to take control of his unsuccessfully.

Unsuccessfully because if there was one thing Arsenic insisted on, it was having control. Control to protect both of them, to keep the monster inside him from claiming his mate, to keep her from going further than he was ready to accept.

He was the one with his heart on the line, after all.

He could sense the fire, hope and need and pleasure all wrapped up in her. He entwined his hands with hers as he put some distance between them, staring down at her, giving her a chance to breathe.

Was this really what she wanted? Would this really help her move on?

She licked her lips and grinned up at him. “That’s good. I need more.”

Dammit, she knew how to push him.

He rolled over with her in his arms and pinned her against his chest as he lay on his back. This way he could keep his arms around her, holding her tight and safe as he kissed her again, hands caressing her shoulders, hips, sides, and the top of her chest.

He stayed hesitantly above her breasts until she nodded and pushed up into his hands, her small breasts cupped in his palms, nipples pressing through her thin bra.

It was the most amazing feeling, squeezing and then tweaking gently and seeing her arch back with a gasp.

“You’re too perfect,” he said. “How are you so perfect?”

“How are you talking while doing something so intense?” she gasped out.

He leaned forward, looking at her for consent as his mouth neared her breast.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, yes,” she said, pushing herself forward so his lips could cover her nipple. He smiled as he flicked his tongue against her hard nub, reveling in the way her body twisted and writhed at such a small motion.

“Don’t talk about other men while in bed with me,” he growled, turning his attention to the other nipple, torturing it with a slow roll of his tongue.

“It’s a saying. Fine, whatever you want,” she said. “But I thought this wasn’t serious.”

“Oh no, it’s dead serious to me. I may not be able to keep you, Farrah, but when you’re in my bed, you’re mine. Wholly mine, and I expect you not to think of anyone else.”

“Yes, sir,” she said somewhat sarcastically, and he bit down slightly on her nipple, making her gasp.

“I like that,” he said. “But not with that tone.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, overwhelmed, arching against him, begging for more of his touch on her breast.

“No, I’m a dragon, and not a good one at that.” His tongue laved lazily. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“But I’m—”

He sucked, hard. “For this moment.”

She let out a cry of frustration, desperately moving against him to encourage more of his touch. When she realized he wasn’t going to give in, she slumped against him in defeat, eyes glazed with lust. “Fine. For this moment, I’m yours.”

“Good,” he said. Then he flipped her onto her back and spread her legs, splaying one finger down her center, making her arch with a small scream.

She breathed hard, looking up at him defiantly. “Not like I could think of anything else with your hands on me.”

“Good,” he said, stroking again, parting her soft folds and feeling the hard nub that was swollen with pleasure. He rubbed over it slowly, languidly, savoring every response.

If he could only give her release, he was going to do it on his terms.

She writhed, twisting her hands in the sheets, looking for something to hold on to, and he came forward against her, propping himself on one elbow, his face close to hers as his other hand stayed on her clit.

“Mine,” he said, rubbing over her again.

“Yes, yours. I told you,” she said in a hoarse voice, as if she couldn’t think clearly much longer.

His lips closed over hers, stifling her moans as his hand grew more aggressive in its movement, swirling and diving and parting and stroking as she writhed and jerked in his arms.

She bit down on his lip when she came apart, letting out a guttural moan as her whole body convulsed against him in beautiful release. Her hands held on tight, nails digging in as her limbs flailed beneath him, jerking with every wave.

But he wasn’t nearly done.

He lowered himself slightly, licking one breast and grabbing the other as she recovered her breath. By the time she wasn’t shaking, another orgasm was already building, and her eyes were wide with surprise, almost panic, as he took her speeding toward another release.

She bit her lip and her eyes rolled back as his hand moved down to her folds again, rubbing hard over her nub, telling her without words that it was time to come.

She screamed, arching in his arms as he suckled her nipple, careful to be gentle as she fought her release. She was so beautiful, caught up in the pleasure only he could give her—his, for only this moment.

His heart ached and felt close to exploding at the same time.

He wanted to do this forever. An eternity of orgasms would never be enough.

But she was breathing hard, looking slightly glazed with pleasure, trembling against him, and he decided for now he would settle for one more.

He stroked again, kissing her neck, her nipple, her lips as he moved her easily toward another release. When he felt her breath catching with little gasps, her body so tight it could explode, he pushed her over the ledge with a little stroke of her nub.

He kissed her mouth so he could savor her screams.

Her nails dug into him, and he was sure they could probably draw blood. He would accept it with pleasure if that was the case.

Any sign of his mate’s pleasure was the highest honor he could gain.

“Arsenic, Arsenic,” she said, moaning as she squirmed out the rest of her release. Her small body was spent, moving beneath him, and her cheeks were flushed, skin glowing all over.

“Farrah,” he said, pleased with the way she looked after being with him. Like she’d been owned, taken over.

It wasn’t everything he wanted to do, but it would have to be enough for now. The dragon in him was roaring, pacing, and he was proud of himself for not going too far.

Until he wasn’t. Until the heady rush of the moment began to fade, and it was just Farrah beneath him, looking so vulnerable and ravished. So thoroughly pleased…

By someone who was only supposed to be her bodyguard.

Guilt rushed through him, but he was careful not to show it. Guilt and other things. Like the feeling he’d just fucked himself over by giving himself a taste of the one thing he could never have.

Farrah, for his own.

He rolled off her abruptly and stood up, grabbing his robe and pulling it on, tying it carelessly, desperate to get away from this human who made him lose all control.

She sat up groggily, looking so beautiful in her afterglow that she took his breath away. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“Was that not enough release for you?”

She hesitated, pulling the sheets up around her and twisting them in her hands. “No, it was. It was amazing, and—”

“Good,” he said sharply, hoping his tone was businesslike. Hoping it hid the gaping vulnerability he felt inside. “Because it can’t happen again.”

“Wait. What do you mean?” she asked, looking genuinely confused.

But before she could ask more about it, or follow him, he headed for the door quickly. “I… Just don’t worry about it. Let’s just forget this ever happened. That’s the idea here, right?”

Then with that somewhat unfair statement tossed behind him, he left, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it, catching his breath, sure she wasn’t following after him.

He put a hand through his hair, trying to gather his wits, trying to be the calm, stoic assassin.

He was Arsenic. He’d been wanting more than he could have his whole life. He’d always been looking higher than his station. He was grateful to even be where he was, rather than dead in a garbage dump.

Grateful. He would be grateful he’d been allowed to touch heaven and not think about the fact that now everything in comparison would feel like hell.