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    Summary

    “Um, Rock?” I put down my burrito and lick the lingering droplet of salsa off my lower lip. “Maybe I can feed you instead?”

    Rocky’s claw quivers. “Why, question?”

    “Come on, you’re suffering! My hands are… soft.”

    Likely the softest thing that has ever touched him, now that I think about it.

    “I think they'd feel nicer against your damaged mucosal lining than your rock-hard claws! I could be… gentle.” My voice trails off. I must be out of my mind to be suggesting something like that, even if my intentions are pure. There’s no noble cause that warrants my being anywhere near his one-hole-does-it-all. Is there?

    Or

    After they finally got comfortable eating around each other, Grace feeds Rocky. That just might change their entire relationship.

    Language:
    English
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