( the sensation is familiar. how many times have his hands coursed through her hair, twirling strands around his fingertips until they splay out, taut against her scalp? more than she can count. but it's never felt quite so careful. his hands have never brushed quite so softly against the nape of her neck, and the newness of the sensation sends the slightest of chills down her spine in return. )
no subject
Promise?