When, not if. Fie took Tavin’s face in her hands and kissed him. At first he hardly stirred, and for a horrid moment she thought she’d made a mistake, that she’d misjudged it all, that he’d think her a fool—she pulled back— Then a strange, slight shiver passed through him, and a breath later, she found that meant the last of his restraint had snapped. He didn’t kiss her back so much as drown himself in her. His fingers wound themselves in her hair, mapped out the bones and planes of her back by touch, fitted her hips against his; his mouth sought hers like a cure, starving and fierce, only to
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