His hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, sending shivers down my spine. The distance he’d created vanished as he leaned in, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was a promise, a confession. It was slow and deliberate, a soft exploration, a whisper of what was to come.
My own hands moved, releasing his shirt to tangle in the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It was a dance of lips and tongues, a languid, hungry rhythm. My senses were ablaze. The scent of him, the feel of his skin, the taste of him—it was all consuming. It was a kiss that sealed our fate, a kiss that claimed me long before a mark could be made.
He broke away, his forehead resting against mine. Our breaths mingled, hot and ragged. “Marigold,” he murmured, his voice a lo
