Mar 12, 2015
"This is wrong."
The fire popped! loudly in the hearth. Genevieve shifted sleepily and lifted her head from the crook of his shoulder, blinking against the bright light of the fire. “Wrong?” she murmured, fingers curling lightly along his ribcage. “What is?”"How small your hands are," he murmured into her hair, clasping his hand around hers and lifting it to his mouth. “These hands are so small, so perfect ... I have never seen hands as lovely as yours, and it is wrong. Hands dare not be so lovely.”“Nonsense,” Genevieve laughed, propping herself up carefully. “I prefer yours. Hard and calloused and warm.” She pressed a kiss to his palm. “There is nothing wrong here. You are tired. Go to sleep now.”
