Lion Touches Her Once—And Regrets Everything
Lion swore he would never be the first to touch her.
Touch implies claim.
Claim implies expectation.
Expectation is the one thing Ra refuses to carry for anyone.
But the night breaks rules.
They’re standing alone—no witnesses, no Algorithym interference, no Sovereign watching from the shadows. Just proximity and the hum of something unfinished.
Ra doesn’t move away.
That’s the invitation.
Lion reaches—not to possess, not to pull—but to anchor. His fingers brush her wrist, barely there, enough to ask without demanding.
Her pulse answers.
It is the most intimate thing he’s ever felt.
Ra inhales. Slow. Controlled. Her eyes darken—not with surrender, but with recognition. She turns her wrist slightly, granting him exactly one heartbeat longer.
Then she stills.
The power shift is immediate.
Lion realizes—too late—that this wasn’t a test of desire.
It was a test of discipline.
“Don’t,” she says quietly. Not sharp. Not angry. Final.
He withdraws at once. His jaw tight. His breath uneven.
Ra steps closer—close enough that refusal feels cruel.
“Now you know,” she murmurs, “why wanting me costs more than most are willing to pay.”
Lion doesn’t answer.
Because he already knows.
And because part of him is willing to pay it anyway.