Send “Be still” for my muse’s reaction to yourstrailing a hand up their thigh and shirt.
His words are a warmbreath against her ear. She is held captive by his eyes, pinpricks ofmaroon in the dim light- the eyes of a predator. Fingertips ease upthe side of her thin and slip beneath the fabric of her skirt.Goosebumps rise, little hills on the landscape of her skin; a shivertrails long her spine. There are voices and approaching footsteps,but she pays them little heed. Her attention is fully on thesensation of his exploring fingers as they journey up to the curve ofher hip. A little gasp bursts from the narrow opening between herlips and teeth; warmth creeps into the places where his fingerslinger and reddens her cheeks and the nape of her neck.
The voices are closeras well as the pounding of shoes against the unyielding concretefloor. Her breathes quicken; the pad of his thumb brushes against theinside of her thigh. His hand just reaches the soft curve of her hipwhen hands grasp her arms and pull her back. “I forgiveyou.” It's the last thing hesays before a guard steps between them, breaking the spell his eyescast upon her. She remembers where she is now, why she is there- whyhe is there, and guiltrises, acidic and thick, up the back of her throat.
He may forgive her forher part in his capture, but she still cannot forgive herself.
Obediently, she doesher best to calm herself. The words that had gathered on the tip ofher tongue retreat, tumbling down the back of her throat andgathering into a lump that she does her best to swallow down. Herbare feet are cold on the tiled floor of the hospital room; a thinband of skin uncovered by her thin gown is pressed to the wall. Alittle shiver passes through her, though it is not the floor or thewall that induces the faint shudder. Instead, it is his fingers,which are trailing up the side of her bare thigh. In the hollowbetween his thumb and forefinger, he catches the hem of her gown andeases it up with his hand.
Her chest rises andfalls in ever quickening breaths; she takes her lower lip between herteeth and bites hard enough to prove to herself that this is nodream. His hand is at her hip now. It doesn't stop, only continuesup, up, up- until thebandages around her abdomen is visible. The other hand lifts andbrushes the pad of his thumb along the lower edge of the bandaging. Brows furrow faintly and the corners of his mouth sink down into afrown.
“I'm alright,” Shewhispers without looking at him. She doesn't tell him how it hurts tobreathe, how weak she feels, how she thought she might never see himagain. There are still times she thinks about the authoritiesstorming the house and chaos that followed. What hurt worse than theinjury suffered to help him escape was the brief look of betrayalthat has passed through his eyes. He had thought she had been the oneto call them. None of it matters now- he must know she had nothing todo with it. Why else would he be here?
Her hand moves to coverhis. “I'm alright,” She says again in a quiet voice. “I'malright... now that you're here.”
