She thinks for a moment he will pull her down on to his lap, but instead he tugs lightly on her hand and draws himself up. His body, lean and unfamiliar, mirrors her own at no distance at all. She can taste his breath. They are looking at one another’s faces, negotiating whose head will tilt in which direction for the kiss, and then she has grown tired of delay and just plants her mouth on his, driving her tongue between his lips and feeling his arms wrap and lift her slightly, bend her spine to complete the seal. They break off and go again, her hands climbing his spine beneath his shirt, finding muscle and hanging on. She feels his fingers cup her face, growls as they slide to the back of her head and then down to her shoulders and neck. Heat is growing in her, pent-up tension and stress and disappointment burning away in this new world that has Jonathan Jones in it, that has his skin and his fire. She draws back from him, clasps his face between her palms and stares at him, trusting that he will read this sign correctly as the announcement of mating, and returns to the kiss. The world goes red at the edges, then brown as she shuts her eyes and falls into him, and then coolly black. Sweet surrender.