She had missed him too. She had wanted him close—closer than this even—had felt that absence like a quiet ache she couldn't ignore.
The man she loved was a dangerous man. A man capable of things she didn't fully agree with, things that unsettled her when she thought too long about them.
But still—She loved him. So she let herself sink into him, into the kiss, into the way he took and took like he couldn't get enough. She matched him—breath for breath, movement for movement—her lips parting for his, her body yielding just enough to keep him close, to keep him there.
It was beautiful in a dangerous way. More wanting. More needing. More of whatever this was between them.
When he finally broke the kiss, he whispered. "I love you…" he whispered, his voice rough. "Don't leave me."
