Then a breath cuts through me.
He reaches through the drizzle—and his fingertips press into the dimple of my bellybutton.
I cringe back into the tap and it digs into my spine, but I hardly feel it over the unwelcome tickling pressure of his fingertip in my fucking bellybutton.
Water falls onto his hand, gliding over the healing bruise, along his knuckles, down his fingers.
His touch doesn’t leave my bellybutton—but his stare doesn’t leave my face, either.
Watching me, he presses firmer.
The nerves alight.
I choke on a dense sound, something too close to a laugh.
I bite down on the insides of my cheeks and steel myself against the tickling sensation.
I don’t dare laugh.
A fleeting frown kisses his brow before he blinks, then he drags his fingertips from my bellybutton, and up the starved line that cuts between my ribs.
My breath shudders.
It utters out of me, chopped and hacked.
And still, he watches my face, studies the heat on my cheeks, the stunned daze of my eyes, the pinched line of my lips.
His touch leaves a trail of tickling skin, all the way to the curve of my breast—
A breath cuts through me, sharp.
Samick’s face tightens. His eyes darken even more, like windows into the richest, densest rainforest in existence.
My flesh prickles under his touch.
Still, he doesn’t stop.
The light kiss of his fingertips travels along the side of my breast, as though tracing the streams of water, then curves towards my pebbled nipple—
My throat thickens.
His touch grazes my nipple, and I jerk back into the tap.
A hissing sound escapes from between my gritted teeth.
Instinct surges through me, and I swipe out at him.
It’s like striking brick.
Nothing happens.
His touch still lingers on my nipple.
His eyes still burn into mine.
A sudden heaviness drapes over me.
A realisation that turns my insides to steel.
