Something softens in his expression.
"Come here," he says quietly. "Come here, Pen."
He kisses me again, and this time the kiss is slow and unhurried.
His lips move against mine with such careful tenderness that something behind my ribs physically aches.
His hands cradle my face like I am something precious and irreplaceable.
I feel tears prick my eyes for entirely different reasons than the ones threatening me a moment ago.
This doesn't feel like possession. It doesn't feel like claiming or conquering or any of the things the mate bond sometimes whispers it should be.
It feels like caring.
I push the vulnerability of it aside and lose myself in the sensation of him. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I meet him eagerly, my hands sliding from his hair down to the front of his shir
