Kell had never done this with tenderness. Sex was more an itch to be scratched than an expression of intimacy, and Neria's closeness felt like a promise. Kell kept waiting for something in him to rise up uncomfortably, to push him back, to slow him, and nothing did.

He waited for the heat to falter and the spark to die, or for the flames to burn the ache in his heart away and leave this as one more time, and it didn't happen. Instead, her camisole hit the floor, her lips on his, her softly rounded chest against his own, and Kell lost his breath.

Wrapped his arms around her and held her closer, fingertips tangling in the band, pressing under it to feel more of her skin. With slow kisses and slower touches of tongue, Kell sank down and onto the cot, drawing Neria with him and into his lap. His hands left off the small of her back to smooth along her thighs, guiding her into straddling him.