After a long time, she sighed and rolled to face me. Her eyes flicked open and narrowed slightly. Accusatorily. She tucked one of her hands under the pillow to rest below her cheek. I was jealous of that hand.
Beneath the blanket, her foot crept forward and brushed against my shin. Barely, just a butterfly’s wing against my skin. But it was more than nothing.
The bed was large enough that we wouldn’t touch accidentally.
Hesitantly, I let my hand drift toward her. The rustle of the blanket was quiet, only rivaled by the sound of crackling embers, critters chirping in the distance, and our breathing.
Her breaths halted when my fingertips made contact. They danced along the curve of her hip, where it dipped into her waist. I froze for a moment to see if she would push me away. If she would retreat.
She didn’t.
I let the weight of my hand settle onto her hip. The fabric of her nightshirt was soft and smooth, but I ached for the feel of her skin.
Our eyes bored into each other in the darkness. Her gaze smoldered.
When Kizzi breathed again, it was on a sharp inhale as my hand sought the hem of her nightshirt and slid beneath it. Her skin was warm and even silkier than I imagined. I let my hand rest there on her hip, content to just feel her skin on mine. I allowed my fingertips to wander only slightly, drifting around her hip to the small of her back.
I ached to grab onto her, to yank her into me, to shove my face against her soft flesh, but I resisted. If this was all she allowed, it would be enough.
My fingertips tingled where they touched her.
I let my eyes drift closed as my fingertips continued their gentle stroke over Kizzi’s hip.
I wouldn’t push the witch any further. I didn’t want her to flee.
A frog croaked somewhere in the distance, a soothing, distracting rhythm.
The blankets rustled quietly as Kizzi moved. I was sure she would pull away, would roll away from me, but my heart jumped in my chest when I realized that wasn’t the case.
She inched toward me. Only slightly. The space between us was shrinking—she was close enough that I could feel her breath drifting across my face. My hand slipped lower, spanning the width of her lower back. I gently dug my fingertips into the muscle there, but I didn’t pull her closer. Not yet.
Her foot snaked out again, brushing my shin. A teasing stroke. When I shifted slightly, she slipped her foot over my leg and hooked her heel around my calf. She tugged, just a bit.
A low, quiet laugh rumbled from my chest.
I kept my eyes closed, content to let her torture me in the darkness. Using my hand on her back, I dragged her closer, but not all the way. Precious inches still separated our bodies.
She would have to be the one to make the move. This push and pull between us was addictive, but it was fragile, and I didn’t want to shatter it.
I could almost feel her pulse thumping beneath her skin. Or perhaps that was mine, thundering so hard it was throbbing in my fingertips.
Something soft and delicate brushed over my collarbone. Her fingers, I realized. A smile pulled at my mouth. I allowed her to explore for a moment, her touch drifting over my shoulder, down my arm where it bent at the elbow, and back again, to the divot on top of my collarbone. A shiver worked down my spine.
“Nice outfit,” she whispered, her words caressing me in the darkness.
“You like this one, huh?” I asked, teasing. “It’s one of my best.”
“Mhm,” she hummed in response. “Looks good on you.”
“I thought you liked it, the way you were practically stroking me with your eyes.”
She snorted in mock outrage, grasping a lock of my hair and tugging on it. “I did no such thing!” She allowed her leg to slip further, her knee sliding up to rest on the side of my thigh as her calf curled around the back of my leg.
“I know what I saw, princess.”
My eyes flipped open as I slid my hand up her spine to the center of her back. Her skin was so smooth, it begged to be caressed. Every inch deserved to be stroked, kissed, worshipped.
I wondered, idly, if she would ever let me. I was surely getting ahead of myself.
