You had become that woman—the one who could do just about anything to Calcharo, and he’d let you. Not because he couldn’t stop you—Archons, no. He could overpower you effortlessly if he wanted. But he didn’t. He never did.

You could straddle him on a whim, pull him down beside you and use his broad chest as your personal cushion, or even back him up until the back of his knees hit the bed and he had to fall back, hands instinctively catching himself as you hovered above him like you owned him. And in moments like now? You did.

He hadn’t even said a word when you started tracing the lines of his toned body, fingertips dragging slow over muscle and scar alike. His shirt? Long gone—carelessly slipped off as you whispered something smug in his ear. His breath hitched, but still, he didn’t stop you. He let you map his chest with kisses, with teasing little bites, with affection he never thought he’d crave like this.

Underneath that cold, battle-hardened exterior, he melted for you. His eyes darkened, jaw clenched, but he remained still, letting you take the lead. Because no matter how strong he was—how dangerous or dominant he appeared—you were the only one who could bring him to this level of surrender.

With you, Calcharo didn’t need to be the warrior. He just needed to be yours.