"Then I'd like to," she whispers, and waits.
She is asking permission. This woman who could command me to do anything, who holds my bond in her hands, who I am bound to serve. She isasking?
"Yes." The word tears out of me. "Please. Yes."
She smiles, so soft and pleased and full of something that looks dangerously like affection. Then she leans in.
The first touch of her lips against mine is gentle. Tentative. Like she is afraid I might break.
I might. I might shatter.
Her mouth is warm, so warm after two centuries of cold. She tastes like honey and herbs and something indefinably her. She kisses me carefully, giving me time to adjust, to remember how this works. Her hands frame my face, holding me like I am something precious.
I cannot breathe. Cannot think. Can only feel the softness of her lips, the heat of her body pressed against mine, the way her pulse races beneath my hands where I grip her waist.
Then she makes a small sound of pleasure, of satisfaction, and something in me snaps.
I kiss her back.
Not carefully. Not controlled. I have been controlled for two hundred years. Right now, with her in my arms and her mouth on mine and permission ringing in my ears, I let myself want.
I angle her head, deepening the kiss. She gasps against my mouth and I take advantage, tasting her fully. She melts into me, her fingers sliding into my hair, her body molding against mine with perfect trust.
Through the bond, I feel everything. Her pleasure as I kiss her harder, her satisfaction at my response, the heat buildinglow in her belly that mirrors my own. The feedback loop is intoxicating. When I tighten my grip on her waist, she arches into me, and I feel her enjoyment of that as acutely as my own need to hold her closer.
She tastes like home. Like safety. Like everything I have been denied for so long I forgot to miss it.
When we finally break apart, we are both shaking.
She rests her forehead against mine, breathing hard. "Okay," she says, voice unsteady. "That was... that was really good."
"Yes." I cannot seem to form more complex words. My hands are still on her waist, holding her close, and I cannot make myself let go.
"I've wanted to do that," she admits quietly. "For days. Is that strange?"
"No." I close my eyes, breathing her in. "I have wanted... I did not let myself think about wanting."
"You can now." She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "You can want things, Cadeon. You're allowed."
"What if what I want is you?"
The words escape before I can stop them. Too much. Too honest. Too...
"Good," she says simply. Her smile is radiant. "Because what I want is you, too."
Through the bond, I feel the truth of it. No compulsion. No duty. Just... choice. Her choosing me. Me choosing her.
It terrifies me.
It also feels like the first real thing I have experienced in two centuries.
"We should talk about this," she says, though she makes no move to leave my lap. "About what this means. About the bond and..."
"Later." I cup her face in my hands, marveling at the warmth of her skin, the way she leans into my touch without hesitation. "Can we just... stay here? For a moment?"
"Yes." She settles more comfortably against me, her head on my shoulder, her body warm and solid in my arms. "For as long as you want."
I hold her by the firelight, feeling her heartbeat against my chest, her trust in every relaxed line of her body. Through the bond, I feel her contentment, her happiness, her quiet joy at this moment.
