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Summary
"Not yet, Tritoh. What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine, right?" He whispers into your ear, removing his sunglasses and casting them aside. "You have to share."
Wanted. No one could ever make you feel so wanted.
Your peasant body should never be desired, not like this. A burgundy? Never a noble's first choice. Not in a million sweeps. But the Tetrarch made you feel so valued, so cherished. He always made you feel wanted when it came to this.