Her next gasp is almost a sob and she dug fingers into the rounded muscle of his shoulder. There are more memories, spilling out of her head, sitting on her tongue, but he is successfully driving her to distraction, and the fact that these are memories, and not dreams, is almost frightening. His voice is still gravel deep, but it smoothed out over the words, making her stomach draw up tight.

"Yes," she whispers back, panting against his cheek, "yes." He'd held her hand, clung to her, anchored himself to her in the dark.