Willow
HIS FINGERS GRAZE THE CURVE OF MY NAPE WITH THE BAREST PRESSURE.
Goosebumps rise in his wake. Automatically I arch my neck further, baring it to him.
I wish I hadn't.
It's one thing to allow this to happen. Another thing to open myself up in invitation to him, pliant and yielding as a lamb to slaughter. I don't dare move. The room is silent save for the soft sound of our breathing. "I'll talk you through it," he says. "You don't need to be afraid." "I'm not."
Another lie. An obvious one. But he doesn't call me out on it. He only reaches out, very slowly, to take my hand. "It's like this." His eyes hold mine. I don't pull my hand away. Don't stiffen. I allow him to lift my hand to his face, my wrist exposed to him. His breath fans across my skin. As I shiver, my nipples tighten, an involuntary and currently unwelcome response.
