Draven didn't answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on me.
Not avoiding the question.
Considering it.
As though he was deciding how much truth I was allowed to have.
The wind stirred between us.
Neither of us moved.
Then his hand rose.
His thumb brushed lightly across the mark on my lip.
My pulse stumbled.
"In my world," he said quietly, "a kiss is never just a kiss."
I swallowed.
His eyes remained on mine.
"It is a decision."
The words were calm.
Far too calm.
"A line."
His thumb lingered against my mouth.
"One you do not cross unless you're prepared to live with what comes after."
Something tightened in my chest.
"Last night..." his voice lowered, "...I crossed it."
My breath caught.
For the first time since I'd met him, uncertainty flickered through his eyes.
Only for a second.
Then it vanished.
"I spent years teaching myself control."
His gaze drifted toward the horizon.
"I built a throne on it."
A faint smile touched his lips.
Humorless.
