Even if neither of them believed it would last.
She stared at him, lips slightly parted, eyes still hazy with wine and adrenaline.
"I can?" she whispered again, throat rough. "No restrictions?"
Santiago's gaze flicked down to where her thighs straddled his hips, the thin black silk of her nightdress bunched around her waist, the heat of her skin unmistakable against his. He swallowed once, slowly.
"Yes," he said at last, voice low and edged with something between warning and surrender. "But not everything."
He had meant to add more—to say you're pregnant, you need to be careful—but the way she looked at him stopped him. The challenge in her eyes, the delicate tremor in her hands, the way she held herself like she was daring him to reject her. He already knew how angry she became when he reminded her of the child. And right now, she wasn't asking for permission to be safe. She was asking for permission to be herself.
She didn't wait for him to explain.
