Here she is. I can see the slope of her spine through that thin shirt. She's made of angles I ache to smooth with a hand, but I'd use my lips if she asked. I brush her knuckles with mine. Her skin is cold, but she flips her palm for more contact. I lace our fingers. It's enough to make her look at me. As those kaleidoscopic eyes meet mine, I hold my breath. Then she sets her lips just under my jaw. It rips the air from my lungs. It's the softest thing I've ever felt. "What was that for," I br...