Nevara
Thoren’s mouth claimed mine before I could answer.
The kiss was deep and deliberate, nothing rushed, nothing frantic. His hand slid into my hair, tilting my head exactly where he wanted it while his other arm braced against the back of the sofa.
I felt the heat of his bare chest against the thin fabric of my dress and every nerve in my body lit up like it had been waiting for permission.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
“Still with me?”
“Yes.”
“Any pain? Pulling? Anything that feels wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
He studied my face for another few seconds, searching for any sign I was lying or pushing myself.
Only when he seemed satisfied did he kiss me again, slower this time, then stood and held out his hand.
I took it.
He
