“I meant what I said on my ship,” she tells him, pushing aside the nervous reticence fluttering inside her. “Kiss me all you like.”

The intensity of Fyon’s gaze deepens, his voice rough and emphatic when it comes, as if he can’t quite wrest hold of his emotions. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Mora...”

Mora grins, lit up. “Then take me,” she playfully eggs him on.

“Mora,” he says, serious. “I don’t think you understand. Not just to touch and hold.”

The look in his eyes is so passionate, tears spring into Mora’s eyes. “I know that, Fee. But the fact of the matter is that I’ve been yours for quite a while now and it will be nice to stop imagining kissing you and actually kiss you instead.”

Fee swallows, hesitating, as if his want is too great for him to handle. He briefly looks to the West, at the lavender moon hung over the skyline, his elegant face tensing. He turns back to her, his gaze weighted with feeling. “To be pulled apart from you now, of all times...”

“I know,” Mora agrees, part of her railing against him going west again when they’ve finally found each other in this new way, but also knowing he has to go.

Fyon reaches up to gently touch Mora’s cheek, as if he’s touching something precious and fleeting. “Tia’lin...” His voice catches on the Smaragdalfar endearment. His fingertips slide down and brush along the base of her glitter-dusted neck, so lightly it’s barely a touch, and a delightful shiver courses through her.

And then Fyon cups her cheek, leans down, and brings his lips to hers.

The moment their mouths touch is suspended in bright magic as warmth slides through Mora’s body, and Fyon’s hands—those elegant sorcerer hands of his—slide around her waist and up through her braided hair, his honeyed kiss deepening as Mora traces her fingers down the long column of his neck, over the straight line of his back, thrilled to finally touch this friend she’s pined for, for so long. Who she’s dreamed of so many nights. Mora traces her hand over Fyon’s lean, muscular chest, reveling in the masculine feel of his body as they kiss each other under the Wisteria, rapidly losing all track of time.

Mora pulls him closer, caught up in wanting more of him as she parts her lips and dares to kiss him with her tongue, as well.

Fyon lets out a surprised groan, his hands tightening on her, his kiss losing its softness, his newfound urgency setting off a pleasurable tightness low inside Mora as he grasps her so deliriously close.

“What do you think, Fee?” she asks, breathless from wanting him and feeling like a decadent confection. “Do you like the taste of me?”

Fyon smiles, his eyes molten silver. “Yes, Mora. Can’t you tell?”