He’d heard her wrong.

“Sorry,” Hugh said. “Would you repeat that?”

“Anal.” Ivy had gone bright red from throat to forehead, but she enunciated the word with exaggerated care. “Could we have anal sex?”

He hadn’t heard her wrong.

“I mean, I’m just trying to work out all the rules here,” Ivy continued, when he failed to respond. “Does anal count as sex as far as your unicorn is concerned?”

“Yes,” he said, in a somewhat strangled tone. “Yes, that…that would definitely count.”

“Okay. What about oral?”

He couldn’t help his gaze dropping to her full lips, moist and pink. How would she look, splayed out before him, her secret folds equally swollen and inviting…

He cleared his throat. “Y-Yes. That would count too.”

“I guess it’s still, um, penetration.” Ivy tapped her lips, her eyebrows drawing down. “What about—“

He held up a hand, stopping her before she could start describing any more intimate acts. His trousers were already getting uncomfortably tight.

“Ivy, it’s not a matter of whether any Tab A has been inserted into a particular Slot B,” he said. “How can I put this delicately…lesbian couples give me headaches. And I’ve met a few married women who didn’t set off my unicorn. Married women with children. And, I can only assume, extremely incompetent—not to mention inconsiderate—husbands.”

From her blank look, she wasn’t following.

Oh God. He was far too English to be having this conversation.

Prude, his unicorn commented, with a distinct undercurrent of amusement.

He sighed. “Orgasms,” he said bluntly. “It’s orgasms.”

“Oh shit, so I give you headaches!” Ivy exclaimed…and went an even darker shade of red.

“Ah, solo activities don’t count,” he said, his own face heating. “Otherwise, let’s face it, there wouldn’t be any unicorn shifters past the age of puberty.”

His unicorn was now openly snickering at his discomfort. He turned away from Ivy, partly to hide his embarrassment, but more because her curves made it very difficult to keep a discussion of sex purely on a clinical level.

“It’s got nothing to do with any old-fashioned notions of purity or innocence.” It was easier to talk with his back to her, though he was still sharply aware of her presence. “I’m sensitive to the ebbs and flows of energy in a human body, it’s how I’m able to heal. And sharing pleasure with another person creates an energy so strong, it’s overwhelming to my senses. My unicorn can’t handle it.”

“I think I get it,” she said. “It’s like you’re a microphone tuned to pick up the slightest whisper. And then suddenly someone yells into you at the top of their lungs.”

He nodded. “And if I felt that sort of energy myself, it would burn me out entirely. Like too much current through a fuse.”

She was silent for a long moment. Then he heard her boots crunch on the fake grass, coming up behind him. Her arms slid around his waist.

“It’s just a hug,” she whispered. She rested her forehead against his back, keeping her own torso at a chaste distance. “That’s all. Because I think you’ve needed one for a long, long time, Hugh.”

He closed his eyes, encircled by her gentle embrace. There was nothing sexual in it. Just the wordless comfort of human closeness, freely offered, asking nothing in return.

Of course she’d known how desperately he needed that simple contact. She knew even better than him what it was to go without touch.

Heal her. His unicorn looked at him from the depths of his soul, compassion and sorrow mingling in its sapphire gaze. As she heals you.

He let out his breath in a long sigh. He turned in her arms, putting his own around her. He felt her breath catch as he pulled her close against his side. He buried his face in her dark hair, as she’d hidden hers in his mane earlier.

“Ivy,” he whispered.

She clung to him, holding on as fiercely as he did to her. Her warmth pressed against him, the curves of her breasts against his chest sending fire through his blood. He couldn’t help digging his fingers into her generous hips, pulling them harder against his own.

“Hugh,” Ivy gasped into his shoulder, as the exquisite softness of her belly pressed against his rigid length. “I’m pretty sure this is no longer just a hug.”

“I can’t stop myself around you.” Hugh drew his head back a little, far enough to see her face. “But you can. Stop me, Ivy.”

She drew in a breath, parting her lips—but he pressed one finger against them, forestalling her words.

“But not yet,” he said.

He gently drew his finger down over her bottom lip, her breath hitching as he followed that lush, pillowy curve. Her eyes were all pupil, wide and dazed with desire. His fingertips skimmed the line of her jaw, cupping her face.

“Hugh,” she breathed, as he bent down to her.

“Not yet,” he repeated, and closed his mouth over hers.

Soft, so soft, softer than he could ever have imagined. But there was strength there too, in the way she pressed up against him, giving him back as much as he gave her. She opened to him but claimed him in return, her tongue wonderfully bold against his.

Her hands came up to tangle in his hair. The light scratch of her nails made him groan into her mouth, his hips jerking helplessly with every crook of her fingers. He pressed harder against her, near-blind with the need to be closer to her. Closer, deeper, claiming every inch.

Her back hit a wall. He growled in satisfaction, trapping her body against his, her mouth under his own. He was drunk on the sweet taste of her, on the needy little noises she made deep in her throat. He wanted to hear her make more of them. He wanted to make her scream out her pleasure, wanted to hear her say-

“Stop,” she gasped against his mouth.

That single word was a choke chain around his neck, dragging him back from the brink. He broke off the kiss, though every part of him cried out in protest. Chest heaving for breath, he leaned his forehead against hers.

She released his hair, her hands drifting down to rest on his shoulders. He could feel her body trembling with barely restrained desire, as much as his own was. Gradually, their racing hearts slowed.

Ivy sighed. “I hope you have a very, very cold shower.”

“Frigid,” he murmured. “I’m not even sure it can go hot.”

She let out a brief, shaky laugh. “I call first dibs.”

She pushed at his chest. He drew away, but only far enough to look into her face. Gently, he traced her flushed, swollen lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “For stopping?”

Dipping his head, he brushed her mouth with his own. Lightly. Tenderly. Just once.

“No,” he said, releasing her at last. “For starting.”