His words generate a pulse of warmth, of that same longing, that hunger he draws up in her. But she exhales slowly and lets it settle again.

Her hand continues exploring, marking the scar tissue above where the isolates melt into his body. Assured that there's no irritation, no pain, her hand drifts back along the top of his shoulder. She's memorizing every freckle, every tiny scar all the way to the side of his neck, trailing up into his hairline. Peace. Contentment. Safety.

Nothing exists but the two of them, here and now.

"Someone who?" she prompts, gently.