Avan let out a short, incredulous exhale—a sound that was pure, defeated delight. He shook his head slightly, the movement brushing his nose against hers again, agonizingly slow.

“Insufferable,” he whispered, though the word was saturated with affection. “You are absolutely, magnificently insufferable.”

He shifted his grip on the back of her neck, his fingers tightening just enough to tip her head back, anchoring her exactly where he wanted her. The steam swirled around them, dampening his lashes, clinging to his skin, but his focus didn't waver from the challenge in her eyes.

“High bar,” he murmured, his voice a low velvet scrape. “As if I haven't spent years learning exactly how to clear it. As if I don't know exactly where to touch to make you forget you're a deity and remember you're just... mine.”

He leaned in, his lips hovering a millimeter from hers—close enough to share breath, far enough to be a torment.
“You want me to earn it?”

He didn't wait for an answer.

He closed the distance, not with the slow reverence of before, but with a sudden, consuming hunger. He kissed her deep, stealing the breath she’d used to taunt him, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a possessive familiarity that claimed everything she was offering. It was a kiss meant to silence her, to overwhelm her, to drag her under without him even entering the water.

He let the kiss deepen, tilting her head to a devastating angle, his thumb digging into the sensitive cord of her neck, demanding a response.
When he finally pulled back—just an inch, breathless and ruined himself—his voice was rough, wrecked.

“Well?” he challenged, searching her face, waiting to see if those golden eyes were finally, blissfully shut. “How are my grades?”

Imogen would have laughed if she could—if there were any oxygen left in her bloodstream not currently occupied with the task of surviving him.

He called her insufferable and she felt her whole heart stretch, warm and helpless, like it recognized the word as something sacred. Like it was a nickname. A vow. A home.

But the moment his hand tightened at the back of her neck—just enough to guide, not enough to command—her breath hitched, the sound catching in her throat like a secret she hadn’t meant to let him hear.

Mine, he said.

And God, she was.
Utterly.
Hopelessly.
Ridiculously his.

Not that she’d ever admit it without being at least a tiny menace.

His mouth crashed into hers and she met the kiss with a soft, startled sound—a quiet, hungry hum that vibrated between them as her fingers fisted in his hair. She kissed him back with the same wicked devotion he gave her: greedy, aching, too much and not enough.

The way he kissed her—deep, claiming, dragging her under—made her forget entirely that she was supposed to be teasing him. Made her forget the bath, the steam, the room, her own damn name. Made her remember only that this was Avan—her Avan—and she loved him with a ferocity that scared and thrilled her in equal measure.

He pulled back too soon.
Far too soon.

Her lips chased him without thinking—an instinctive, yearning little lean forward that betrayed everything she normally kept stitched behind her bright, sarcastic composure. And when she realized she’d done it, she froze just long enough for him to see it.

Her eyes fluttered open—yes, open, defiantly open still—and she blinked up at him with that devastating mix of dazed affection and smugness.

She took her time answering.
Not because she needed time.
Because she was cruel.

Finally, she let a slow, languid smile curl across her mouth—the kind that was half praise, half provocation.

“Well,” she murmured, voice warm and wrecked but still dripping with mischief, “you passed.”

Her thumb brushed his jaw, tender in a way she only ever let herself be when he’d already disarmed her this thoroughly.

“But,” she added, tilting her head just a touch, eyes glowing with trouble, “I don’t believe in grade inflation. There’s room for improvement.”

She let her knees rise just slightly through the water, brushing his thigh—barely there, barely a touch, but intentional as sin.

“And you know me,” she continued, soft and sinful, “I’m a very demanding instructor.”

Her voice dipped lower, breath brushing his lips.

“So if you want those eyes closed…”
Her fingers tugged lightly at the hair at his nape, coaxing, teasing, worshipping.
“You’re going to have to kiss me again. Better.”

There was love in her eyes—deep, overwhelming, unmistakable.

But there was challenge, too.
And she knew he saw both.

She wanted him—completely.
But she would always make him work for the victory.

Because he was the only one she adored enough to fight with.