Page 137 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

But I freeze.

The want crashes into reality and reality wins.

My sexual experience is pathetically limited to a handful of rushed encounters at the Gilded Lily. I’ve never done this with another guy. I don’t know what I’m doing.

Garrett must see the hesitation written all over my face because he quirks an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve never—” I swallow hard, my throat tight. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this.”

For a long moment he just stares at me. Then a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He reaches up to trace the line of my jaw with gentle fingers. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right. I don’t—” I pause for a beat. “I don’t know how to make it good for you.”

I expect him to be disappointed and realize I’m not worth this trouble.

Instead he says quietly, “I’ve never been on the receiving end either. I don’t know how it works from that position. I’ve always been the one in control.”

I stare at him, processing his words. The mental image I’ve had for weeks, of me pushing him down, taking him that’s the only version I know. It’s the only version that makes sense to me.

“So we’re fucking incompatible then?” I say flatly.

He pulls me down into another kiss, slower and sweeter this time.

“Garrett—”

“I want you anyway,” he says firmly against my mouth.

His hands slide down my back, exploring lower. He knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to take it.

“I don’t think this will work,” I say against his lips. “Why should I be the one to—”

“Would you let me be the one who fucks you?” he asks directly.

The question stops me cold. Images flash through my mind. Dreams I’ve had of Garrett pinning me down, his hands holding my wrists and his belt wrapped around them. I was completely at his mercy and wanting it.

Fuck.

“I...” I don’t know what to say.

“Let me show you,” he murmurs between soft kisses to my jaw, my throat. “Just trust me. Trust us.”

He reaches over to the bedside table, fumbling in the drawer for something. His hand emerges holding a small glass vial of clear oil.

“Come on. Let me take care of you for once.” He pushes at my shoulder gently, guiding me onto my back. “Don’t worry, Wolf. I’ll take good care of you.”

He wants to give this to me.

It feels strange. Wrong, almost. I’m supposed to be the one protecting him, taking care of him. Not the other way around. I’ve spent my entire life being the weapon, the shield, the one who handles things so others don’t have to. Being on the receiving end of care feels strange.

My scars are on full display like this. The knife wound across my ribs from the forest ambush years ago. Lashes and burn marks on my left side from the guild’s punishment. Dozens of smaller scars from years of violence.

Garrett looks like he belongs in paintings and marble halls. His skin is untouched elegance, perfect in every way. He should be the one being worshipped, not the other way around.

Why would someone like him look at a body carved apart like mine and see anything worth wanting?

“Lay back,” Garrett says softly, setting the vial aside for a moment. His hands settle on my shoulders. “Just breathe and ease into this.”