He crossed the distance between us in two steps.
Didn't ask. Didn't hesitate. Just moved.
His hand came up to cup the side of my face warm, calloused, steadier than my pulse and I forgot how to breathe.
"Tell me to stop." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "Right now. Before this goes somewhere we can't walk back from."
I should have. Every survival instinct I'd honed over two years of rogue camps was screaming at me to step back, put distance between us, rebuild the wall I'd just admitted I was tired of maintaining.
Instead I leaned into his hand.
His pupils blew wide.
"Selene—"
"I'm not asking you to claim me." My voice came out rougher than I meant. "I'm asking you to make it stop hurting."
His jaw clenched hard enough I heard his teeth click. "If I touch you the way you're asking me to touch you, I won't be able to stop at just making it stop."
"Good."
That one word snapped whatever leash he'd been holding himself on.
He kissed me.
