Mariella Kuibreza
His touch was the ghost of a whisper. If my eyes were closed, I would have thought I was dreaming him to life.
The light warmth of his fingers moved up and down my arm in a slow rhythm, some sort of delicate dance that sent a rush of color to my cheeks when it skimmed the fabric over my chest.
This moment spun between us, wordless, with only lingering looks and shy smiles to communicate what neither of us could outright say. I hoped that he knew there was no need to apologize for it, an accident that stirred something deeper, more raw and inexplicable. A shared flush on our faces bound a silent promise between the secrets hidden somewhere in the heart of hearts.
The promise of knowing that something was there.
“Are you alright, Mari?” Klaus placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re zoning out again.”