The contact is feather-light, barely there, but it sends a jolt through him that makes his muscles lock. He pulls back just a fraction of an inch, his lips still hovering over hers, his breath warm against her skin. "Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his voice wrecked. "Tell me right now, Hiqmat, because if you don't, I'm not going to be able to." His hand in her hair slides down to cradle her cheek, his palm warm and steady against her skin. His thumb strokes her cheekbone with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the hunger burning in his eyes. He's waiting, giving her the chance to retreat, to end this before it truly begins. But he can feel the way she leans into him, the way her breath catches in sync with his own. He doesn't wait for her to answer this time.