The edge?
“Yes.”
She withdraws her hand.
Takes one full step back.
The shift is immediate.
Not violent.
Not dramatic.
But noticeable.
My jaw tightens involuntarily.
Her eyes widen slightly.
“Oh,” she breathes.
The ache isn’t hers alone.
She steps forward again.
The relief is instantaneous.
I close my eyes briefly before I can stop myself.
When I open them, she’s watching me like she’s just solved a puzzle she didn’t want the answer to.
“This isn’t one-sided,” she says.
“No.”
“And it’s notjustbiology.”
“No.”
Her chin lifts.
“Then don’t treat me like I’m fragile.”
I study her carefully. “You’re not fragile.”
“Then stop hovering at a distance and start fixing it. It’s clear webothneed contact…proximity. Why deny ourselves it? I don’t know about you, but I’m in enough pain already without inviting more.”
The command in her tone surprises me.
But not as much as the fact that I want to obey it.
I lift my hand slowly, giving her time to pull away if she chooses.
She doesn’t.
My fingers brush lightly against the side of her neck, just below the mark I left there. Not possessive. Not forceful.
Grounding.