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    Summary

    The Inquisitor pressed his lips to the Tevinter’s cheek, resting his forehead against his. His touch was light, delicate, and full of passion. With his fingers at Dorian’s chin, he looked deep into the mage’s eyes. The intensity in that gaze was utterly overwhelming.

    “I’ve also wanted to do this, all the time.”

    His final words, combined with that look, brought a rush of warmth to the mage’s chest. Dorian stared, spellbound, lost in the beauty of those deep brown eyes and the wonderful feeling of their bodies intertwining again.

    “What else?” he asked on impulse.

    His mouth felt dry, a shiver running through him. He barely noticed how rough his voice sounded, carrying his desire to have Connor even closer—when something shifted in the Inquisitor’s expression, and in less than a second they were lost in a deep, passionate kiss.

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