She very rarely felt weak - in mind or spirit, at least. However, as she curled up against his body, his arm coming to rest protectively around her, she could admit that she always felt stronger when he was beside her. His fingers caressed her bare shoulder, ever so familiar, and she smiled contentedly into his chest, shifting so she could slip a slim leg between his more muscular ones. He made a soft sound of pleased acknowledgement and tightened his grip on her just a little. Just enough.

Telling him she loved him was easy, came as naturally as it ever had, and so she whispered the words, enjoying the brush of his lips against hers in response. Anticipation spread warmly through her body as he deepened the kiss, his fingers drifting from her upper arm to the curve of her breasts. Home. “Stop wriggling,” he chuckled, tweaking a sensitive nipple as she tried to get closer. “Patience.” She reached for him, laughing as he growled at her. “Fine, I give in,” he groaned as she stroked him, possessive and smug in her power over him. “C’mere, you witch,” he said (commanded) and she thought that some might find his tone too bossy, perhaps even overbearing.

She just smiled. “I love you, too.”