She realized that she was wearing her undergarments—the tank top and lightweight cotton shorts. At that moment, she appreciated that small measure of privacy, even if Leto’s legs circled around hers. He kept his distance; she couldn’t feel the press of his groin against her lower back. She had no idea whether this caress affected him as a man, or if he was once again taking care of her like he was tending a prize animal.

“Come,” he said brusquely. “I’ll take you to your dorm. You need sleep. These few days have been trying for us both.”

For the first time since regaining consciousness, she turned to face him. Leto had held her for who knew how long. Looked after her. Gave her shelter against a world that clawed at her calves, up her thighs, trying to drag her down.

His expression was the most open she’d ever seen of him. The stern set of his mouth was lax, as if he’d just exhaled. His scarred upper lip didn’t seem so stern now, just softer and more vulnerable. She could almost picture the moment of his injury—and the desire to comfort him—as opposed to seeing the intimidating scar left behind. The tight brackets around his mouth had eased. He looked younger. Powerful, yes, but without the same burdens.

He wore briefs similar to hers, made from the same cotton that felt like rough homespun cloth. The chest he’d kept covered by armor was bare. She’d always known his body was marvelous, but to see the bare, shadowed proof was overwhelming. Where to look first? Strong pectorals were swirled with a dusting of dark hair. Wide shoulders were capped with striated muscle that led down to thick biceps and the powerful cords of his forearms. His seated posture folded defined abdominals more tightly together, like masculine origami hewn of flesh. Ligaments and ridges bunched between his ribs.

She wanted to trace her teeth down every hard line and sweeping curve. She wanted to test his strength, to taste it. Even there, with so much unsaid, she had unconsciously started to touch him. Just her fingertips within the cradle of his calloused palms.

His eyes were hooded and dark, propping up shields she wanted to tear down. Why was it so important to find out his character?

I care for him. I want to know what sort of man I care for.

Cupping his jaw in both hands, she brought his gaze up to meet hers. “I’ve only been in my dorm room to change clothes and wash. Why would I want to sleep there when you’re here? For that matter, why would I want to sleep at all?”

“And your headache?”

“You made it better.” She shrugged. “They seem to . . . I don’t know. Come and go. Flashes, then gone in a few seconds.”

He hesitated. His mouth tightened in some twist of emotion she couldn’t begin to interpret. “This will change things.”

“You don’t deal well with change.”

An answering grunt.

“Leto?”

Another wordless noise in his throat. His expression might be more open, but she could do with a few more assurances.

“As champion, you have your choice tonight,” she said, pushing her fingers up, up into his soft, cropped hair. “Who would you choose if it wasn’t me? And don’t lie. By now, you should know that I can tell the difference.”

“No one else.”

His voice was as rough as when they sparred, but layered with very different feelings. The eyes he finally trained on her were just as dark, just as intense. Goose bumps raised on her arms because of the desire he couldn’t—or no longer wanted—to hide. Frank, sensual anticipation gathered in her stomach and pulsed up, down, out until her body ached to be kissed. Everywhere. She wanted that rough mouth in all the ways a man could satisfy a woman, and she wanted to worship him in return.

“And me? Do you want me to choose someone else?”

“No.”

His primal growl intensified her need. She’d fought him for so long. She’d fought beside him. Now, if they were to fight, they would do so in pursuit of release.

“This is me looking right at you. This is me making a choice that has nothing to do with Dragon-damned golish or the heat of battle’s aftermath.” She leaned forward and brushed her mouth against his. Restless, greedy hands helped her balance as she held his taut shoulders. “This is me saying you won’t sleep tonight, and you won’t spend tonight with anyone else.”

A smile livened his grim expression. “I said you’d come to me.”

♦   ♦   ♦

Leto had rarely, if ever, used an attempt at humor to disguise his real emotions. Would leading them down this path ease the strain against Nynn’s mental defenses or snap them in two?

Would it matter in a few seconds if she kept touching him?

She pushed up on her knees and positioned herself between his open thighs. The bed was not wide. He’d always been uncomfortable in the thing. Now that closeness was an unexpected benefit. He wanted her closer still.

“Yes, Leto. I’ve come to you. You win. From one champion to another,” she said against his cheek, “that’s quite a thing for me to admit.”

“You have quite an ego after only one round.”

“You like that I do. I’m what you’ve made of me.”

Again he stifled a surge of something like guilt. He had done his best to train her, but in the end, her success hadn’t been his to shape. He wasn’t some Indranan witch, able to rearrange her thoughts and make her into a whole new woman.

Yet how was he not responsible? Ulia deserved only part of the blame. He could’ve kept her alive as long as was required of them both. Instead, he’d wanted her to be a grand reflection of his prowess. The applause she’d received had eclipsed any he’d ever received, and even then, he’d been able to absorb the glory because she was his creation.

He had tried to transform her, as surely as had Dr. Aster.

Nynn of Tigony was more powerful now, more assured, but she was not free.

Why that mattered to him was impossible to tell. He wasn’t free, and that had never bothered him.

She has a son. Her husband was murdered.

If she had remembered either of those things, she wouldn’t be kneeling between his legs. Which made him the greediest Dragon-damned bastard when he took hold of her hips.

“That’s more like it,” she said against his temple. “Show me what you can do, Leto of Garnis. Show me.”

She knelt at the perfect height to showcase her torso. The tank top concealed her breasts but hugged their firm, high shape. Her nipples had tightened. They strained against the cotton, lifting and lowering with each breath. She dug her nails into the caps of his shoulders. Wide, lush lips softened until they parted completely. She licked her upper lip. That pure sensual invitation sent a rush of blood to Leto’s cock. He’d been hard around Nynn before—and he’d been hard when atop her, there in Kilgore’s room. This was different, just as it was different from any other reward fuck after a fight.

This was intimate.

“You were right,” he rasped. “I don’t like change.”

She edged forward, changing the position of their legs so that she straddled his hips. A shift, a dip, and she settled the soft apex of her thighs over the proof of how much he wanted her. That proof made him groan, while her eyes rolled closed. “I like that change. Always so much the warrior. Always so hard.” She ground her pelvis against his. “But this is the kind of hard we need tonight.”

Leto’s control snapped. He couldn’t hold it together for both of them. She wanted to be taken. He would take her.

What had been a slow awakening to temptation became rougher, faster. He stripped her tank top in a move so quick that she gasped. Perhaps reflex made her cross her arms over bare, beautiful breasts. He caught both wrists and pinned them at the base of her spine. Any other woman—Dragon damn, any other woman—would’ve bowed to his show of strength. Nynn couldn’t escape his grip, but she still had weapons. She bared her teeth and thrust out her chest.