It's what he needs to hear, twisting his own shirt up and over his head. Riddick splays his hands over her stomach, his fingers drifting over the scar that he can remember so clearly now. Before she can protest that he kisses her, needy and pressured in a way he never allows himself to be. With her, it's different, he knows that now. It always has been, and he's done fighting it, not going to fight it again.