He needed that. He needed to find release in her, to love her and show her he loved her.
To find out that she wasn't repelled by his touch despite knowing what he'd done. He didn't exactly, at least always, regret the things he'd done, but he knew she would hate them and so hated them because of that. And now she knew, if not the precise details, the sordid little secrets and deeds in his past.
And she announced she had a confession, and he stroked her cheek with his free hand, feeling the tension in her body. The fear she held because of this secret, whatever it was.
His brow furrowed faintly when she stated those four simple words, unsure of what to think. She didn't have a violent bone in her body, and he really couldn't see her killing anyone for anything.
"How so?" he prompted softly, wanting an explanation because he really didn't think she had it in her--and he knew intimately what it took.