Fox's Glade [m] porcelain

What had he expected from her? Certainly not this. A sudden heat rushed from his core and flooded his head with warmth, tingling in those places she kissed - his cheek, his chin. He had never received such affection from anyone before, and he froze before he melted against her. As if touch is what he had been missing. And maybe it had been. How long since he had been this close to anyone?

The emotions of the past surfaced and logged in his throat. Not only of the month but of the year, and of the years, all of them, ever since father had left, since Merrit had seen Stark reflected in his face and had decided he would be no better than that -

Her comfort drew him in, and he found himself drawing nearer, seeking to bury his face against her, forgetting, for the moment, that he had only met her - that they hadn't even the chance to exchange names. He had missed the touch of another, and she offered her warmth so freely to him... that for once, he did not even think of the consequence.