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would be worse if March had been one of those bastards who came to La’heng to pick out a pretty slave. March’s great-uncle held Loras’s bond before; I’ve never asked what sort of man the great-uncle was, or what he did with Loras. I fear the answers.
    “Come to join the rebellion?” Loras asks lazily.
    “Just for a visit.” But March’s tone reflects regret. It goes against his nature not to fight. He’s a bit quixotic in that regard, always taking other people’s causes as his own.
    “You may not remember me, Commander March, but I’m glad I got to see you again, so I can thank you.”
    That always astonishes me—that Zeeka claims to recollect what happened to him when we took him—he was so tiny. I wonder if he recalls the pain of his death as well, but I’ve never summoned the courage to ask. It’s enough that he appreciates his second chance, and that he doesn’t blame me for what I did to him.
    For once, March is pretty close to speechless. At last he manages, “For what?”
    “Caring for me.”
    “Anyone would have done the same. I’m glad to see you’re well,” he answers.
    I grin, deciding I’ve let Zeeka discomfit him long enough. “Come on, I’ll show you the upstairs.”
    “But Sasha…”
    “You’ll notice if he gets upset, right? He’s safe with Vel.”
    “True. His distress isn’t subtle.”
    He follows without protest, the luggage over his shoulder, and I take him directly to my room. When the door swishes shut behind us, he drops the bags and pulls me into his arms. This isn’t a hello kiss, like the one at the spaceport. It’s far more visceral, and I need his touch so desperately that I can’t think. I’m not made for long periods of celibacy.
    Neither am I…and it’s been a long dry spell, Jax.
    Yeah, those five turns where he didn’t know where I was—in my defense, neither did I—then we reconciled and had to wait another turn. Nobody ever said our path would be easy, I suppose, but it seems to me it’s been harder than most. His kisses drive me until I’m wrapped around him, arms and legs, about to lose my mind.
    “Well,” I say aloud. “I could show you the rest of the house…or—”
    He cuts in, “I like ‘or.’ I am
in love
with ‘or.’”
    While Sasha is occupied now, he’ll probably come looking for us at the worst possible moment. “We have to be quick.”
    March yanks my shirt over my head. “I guarantee that won’t be a problem.”
    His trembling makes me believe he hasn’t touched anyone else, just like he said he wouldn’t. I gave him permission, but he didn’t take it. Like me, he’s been focused on other things. No sex, until now.
    Yes, there.
    He bites down on the curve of my throat. I scramble out of the rest of my clothes, too impatient to let him undress me. March is clumsy in his haste. I can see he’s been working out; his stomach has new definition, and his arms are even bigger than before. I imagine him using fitness machines to sweat out the desire that haunts my own sleep, and he nods, still a quiet warmth in my head.
    I can’t go slow. Tell me you’re ready.
    My assent is all he needs to bear me back on the bed, touching and stroking with hurried, desperate hands. I dig myfingers into his hard shoulders; and then he’s inside me. He holds there, kissing me ravenously, then his movements begin with unpolished need. His longing fills my head, a blistering, white-hot crackle of desire, until I’m breathless and groaning beneath him. My legs curl around his hips as I urge him faster, deeper, harder, then, for the first time, he leaves me behind.
    March arches and shudders, his eyes squeezing shut. I don’t know that he’s ever lost control like this with me before. I’m frustrated, obviously, but also a little moved. He wants me
this
much. I hold him and stroke his hair, his back, while he gets his breathing under control. A few moments later, he makes it up to me with fingers and lips, and I come undone with a