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She didn’t cry because she felt weak.

She cried because she was so tired of being strong.

She trembled against him, inching up to clutch at his shirt as she let go of years of sorrow.

He scrambled in his trousers and handed her a silk kerchief.

She took it, scrubbing away her tears.

Ki’Remi muttered a low curse, his grip tightening, one palm burying itself in her nape.

His chest rumbled beneath her cheek as he growled, ‘I hate seeing suffering. I loathe it even more when I can’t fix it.’

She swallowed, closing her eyes, letting herself rest in his embrace.

Then, unbidden, she was hit with longing.

Her fingers curled against his shirt, gripping the fabric as she lifted her face.

Their eyes met, his silver meta storm contrasting her molten celestial wildness.

Without warning, she kissed him.

There was no hesitation or build-up.

Just the raw, aching need to forget her problems for one stolen moment.

Ki’Remi responded at once.

A low growl vibrated through his chest as he kissed her back in a slow, deep, possessive claiming of her mouth.

His lips moved over hers with a gentleness that threatened to unleash more tears from her, his fingers in her hair, massaging her nape, undoing her with gentleness.

Contrasting with the raw power coiled in his body like a tight-leashed plunderer holding back just enough to let her set the pace.

Her fingers slid up his muscled torso, loving how they bunched and flexed at her stroking. On she went, sliding over the steady pulse in his throat, up to his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of his beard.

He angled his head and deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips, demanding more.

She gave it to him because, at that moment, she craved to be reckless.

She wanted to feel something other than obligation, other than duty.

When they pulled apart, her breath was unsteady, her lips swollen, and her body on fire.

Ki’Remi’s gaze burned into hers, a dark and dangerous simmering beneath his controlled exterior.

Still, he didn’t push.

Instead, he reached for his glass, poured her a generous tot from the bottle the server had left on the table, and nudged it toward her.

‘Drink,’ he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

She smirked as her hands trembled when she picked up the goblet. ‘Are you trying to intoxicate me, Commander?’

His lips quirked. ‘You need it.’

She took a slow sip, sighing as scorching heat burned down her throat. The drink was rich and complex, with the perfect bite of spice.