The metallic fabric of that modified wedding dress was flowing almost like a cool liquid against the back of Qat's knuckles. Beneath all that Silver, feverish heat was radiating from the inner thigh's skin which her fingers were pressed onto. Elua's breath hitched - a shallow, uncontrolled moment from the temperature difference as much as her rising expectation that this was finally happening.
A sound that seemed to echo in stillness of the room... and inside Qatrand's spirit.
To the blonde, it felt like the world had just contracted to only the size of her hand and the smooth, soft skin of her wife. The muscles there were not the bulky power of a typical warrior. Certainly not like herself. But rather the lean, wiry strength of a dancer - or a scout.
