Still keeping her eyes closed, Olivia tilted her head slightly toward him, her lips quivering as she whispered. "Not to mention...not every son kisses his mother like this. If anyone realized you're my son, they'd think...they'd think all sorts of things…"
But Kafka didn't miss a beat. He tightened his arms around her waist and leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
"Let them think whatever they want." He murmured, his tone low and steady, carrying a conviction that pierced straight through her turmoil. His lips brushed her neck again in another soft, lingering kiss. "I don't care one bit."
Hearing this confession, her breath caught unable to believe that it was her son saying such bold words.
"Right now, I'm cherishing my mother." He continued, his voice as tender as his touch. "And there's nothing wrong with that. You're mine to love, Mom. And I don't see why I should ever hold back on showing it, not for strangers, not for anyone."
