The shack was quiet except for the occasional crinkle of a candy wrapper. Sarael had migrated from his lap to the mattress an hour ago, surrounded by her haul of convenience store snacks like a dragon nesting on a hoard of brightly colored plastic.

She’d already finished the shrimp chips, the honey butter chips, and one of the rice balls. Currently, she was working through a pack of sausage sticks with the focused intensity of someone decoding a cipher.

"The texture is different from the chips," she announced, holding up a half-eaten sausage stick. "Chewier. But the salt level is similar."

"Do you like it?"

"Mhm, I like everything so far~"

Ronan didn’t look up from his phone. He was scrolling through the fixer’s forum, checking for any follow-up messages or new job postings.

Nothing yet.

The payment had cleared, and the fixer seemed satisfied with the retrieval job, but the night was still young by underground standards.

"Ronan."

"Yeah?"

"Why do they put so much salt in everything?"

"Preservatives. Keeps the food from going bad on the shelf."

"Huh... "

Ronan lowered his phone and stared at her. She stared back, a sausage stick poised between her fingers like a wand.

"...Eat as much as you want, I don’t think overdosing on sodium’s going to hurt you."

She smiled, satisfied with his answer, and resumed her investigation of the sausage stick. Her ponytail had come loose at some point, and her violet hair spilled across her shoulders in waves. The dark sweater she’d mimicked from the magazine clung to her frame in ways that were definitely not helping his concentration.

He went back to his phone.

But the phone screen couldn’t hold his attention. Not when Sarael was right there, still glowing faintly from his earlier praise and radiating that quiet contentment that made her shadows curl and uncurl like kneading paws.

He’d made her a promise.

And she hadn’t brought it up again. Not once since they’d returned from the job. She’d been too distracted by the snacks, too happy just to be near him, too satisfied with being useful to demand anything more.

Which was exactly why he should follow through.

"Sarael."

She looked up from a pack of gummy worms she’d just discovered at the bottom of the bag, probably something that had slipped without them noticing because of her excitement.

"Yes?"

"Come here for a second."

She didn’t hesitate. The gummy worms were abandoned on the mattress as she rose and crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the floorboards.

"I’m here."

Her violet eyes searched his face with that familiar intensity, scanning for clues about what he wanted, whether she’d done something wrong, and whether he needed something from her.

"I made you a promise back then. After the mission, once you had your energy back."

She went very still.

"Your energy’s back, and the mission’s done. So I’m keeping my promise. If you still want to, that is."

The heart-shaped pupils returned instantly, warping from round circles into those familiar violet hearts. Her shadows trembled against the floor, and her fingers curled into the fabric of her sweater like she was physically restraining herself from launching at him.

"Yes."

The word escaped her mouth before he’d even finished speaking.

"Yes, I want to. I’ve wanted to. I’ve been thinking about it all day, but I didn’t want to push because you said after the mission, and I was trying to be patient but—"

"Breathe, Sarael."

She inhaled sharply, her cheeks flushing faintly. Her heart-shaped pupils were practically vibrating now, and her shadows had started creeping up the legs of his chair like eager vines.

Ronan glanced at the snacks still spread across the table. "You don’t want to finish your food first?"

It was supposed to be a joke. A little tease to lighten the mood. But Sarael just shook her head, her expression completely serious.

"No. They don’t matter as much as you."

The sausage sticks could wait. The gummy worms could wait. Everything on that table could wait until the sun burned out and the world ended, as far as Sarael was concerned, because Ronan was standing in front of her, telling her he was going to keep his promise, and nothing else in existence mattered.

"Okay."

Ronan said, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Then let’s do this properly."

"Properly?"

"Properly means we both enjoy it. You take charge, I take charge, back and forth. None of that ’I just want you to feel good’ stuff where you forget about yourself."

Sarael’s eyes widened. "I-I can take charge? Really?"

"You’re my wife, remember? I don’t want you asking for permission every second anymore."

The word hit her like a switch being flipped. Her clothing dissolved on the spot, the dark fabric melting into the shadows at her feet before reforming into a piece of violet lingerie that Ronan recognized immediately. He’d seen it in the magazine. The one she’d caught him staring at.

"I saw your eyes linger on that page," she said, her voice soft but knowing. "A few seconds longer than the others. I thought you might like it."

Ronan laughed under his breath and pulled his own shirt over his head. He’d gotten more than used to her devotion by now. Maybe even started to rely on it.

"I did. You look incredible." His eyes trailed over her, slow and deliberate. "And very... ravageable."

Ronan lingered on the last words, testing them; he really wasn’t used to sex talk. But with Sarael, he found himself very confident.

Sarael’s breath caught. Her fingers twitched at her sides, and the lingerie was violet and sheer and exactly what he’d stared at in that magazine.

"You think so?" She took a step closer, her heart-shaped pupils fixed on his face. "You think I’m ravageable?"

"I just said you were."

"I know. I just wanted to hear it again, hehe~"

Ronan closed the distance between them. His hands found her waist, and her skin was cool beneath the lace, cooler than a human’s should be, but the way she shivered at his touch was entirely mortal.

Her head tilted back, her lips parting, and he could see the hunger warring with the patience she’d been practicing all day.

"Take charge first," he said. "Show me what you’ve been thinking about, then I’ll follow."

Something shifted in her expression. The shyness didn’t disappear, but it made room for something else. Her centuries of waiting hadn’t just been lonely; they’d been educational. She’d watched the world from the shadows, and she’d learned.

She pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him toward the mattress.

He let her.

The back of his knees hit the edge, and he sat down harder than he meant to, the old springs groaning under his weight. Sarael followed him down, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, her thighs settling against his hips like they belonged there.

"I’ve been thinking," she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, "about all the things I couldn’t do before. When I was just watching."

Her hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, and Ronan’s hands tightened on her waist. The lingerie was barely a suggestion now, dissolving at the edges where her shadows couldn’t be bothered to maintain the illusion.

She was warm where she pressed against him, warmer than before, like his touch was doing more than just recharging her.

"Like what?" His voice came out rougher than he intended.

"L-Like this."

She kissed his throat, open-mouthed and lingering, her tongue tracing the pulse point beneath his jaw. Her fingers dragged down his chest, nails leaving faint red lines that faded almost instantly.

She wasn’t rushing. She was savoring. Every touch, every sound he made, every hitch in his breathing was something she’d waited centuries to experience.

Sarael was doing her best to act dominant, but she couldn’t quite hide the submission still leaking through, the way she kept looking up at him through her lashes like she was waiting for him to take over.

Ronan clocked it instantly.

’Didn’t think a goddess would be a natural bottom, but here we are.’