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Every time his fingers grace my skin, a shiver runs down my spine.
I edge away, the sensation bringing my body to that knife's-edge of pleasure.
My fingers ache with the memories.
Claire thinks it's revulsion. She thinks that bastard Randall ruined me, and John echoes unpleasant reminders.
But his hot skin, soft and gentle, brings nothing but warmth and want.
Damn those bloody English for getting under my skin. Whether with pain or pleasure, I only ache for more.
We share secret smiles and chess. I want his fingers to caress my cock like he does the damn pieces.