As he moved to kiss her, she was intensely aware of the feel of is skin against hers. His stomach touched her stomach. His chest touched her chest. Even his hand, as it traced across her skin, consumed her thoughts entirely. Would she ever get used to the way he touched her? She sincerely hoped not. Everything he did seemed to make her ache for more. The tenderness in his kiss was expected, and welcome, a reaction that shocked her in and of itself.
Something was bothering her though, keeping her from truly enjoying the moment. Feeling him there with her, knowing how he felt about her, knowing he wanted her as she wanted him...it was getting lost somehow. Some part of her was tensing up and it took a moment for her to realize what the problem was. He'd been an angel. The first time he'd ever seen her, he'd known exactly what she was because he actually could see her. For all she knew, he still could. And yet he'd called her beautiful. She wasn't sure why, exactly, but it bothered her. She didn't think lip service was the sort of thing he might do, but she couldn't reconcile the image of what she must look like to him with his words.
Meg gripped his chin lightly between her fingers, holding him back from kissing her, but only barely.
"You don't have to say that," she said, her tone serious. "You've seen my face. We both know what I am. You don't have to flatter my ego with pretty words."