He made a soft, low sound deep in his throat, a vibration that seemed to go straight to my core, and drew me closer until our bodies pressed together, warm and solid and undeniable.
We stood there while the tea went cold and the bond hummed steady and content and nothing in the world was urgent.
When we finally broke apart I stayed close, forehead tipping toward his jaw.
“That… was different,” I confessed.
“Different how?”
“Like the first time either of us did it because we wanted to.” I paused. “Not because something was falling apart.”
He was quiet.
“Yes,” he said, his voice rough but soft. “We should do that more often.”
—
Lena called at nine.
“Hi,” I answered.
“Hi.” A pause. “You sound different.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t fine. I said you sound different.”
