A Touch Of Cloth Novels & Stories

She responded and nodded softly to him but then the robe shifted when she reached for a cup, revealing a hint of her cleavage. I looked away too swiftly and hated the reaction almost immediately. We didn’t say anything to each other. I drank my coffee while she poured tea, after which I felt her glance flick toward me, cautious. Then she moved past me to grab honey for which her body brushed against my arm. It was accidental but my body registered it coupled with the faint scent of lavender that hovered in the air. She reacted too. I could tell from the way her strides hurried before she stopped on the other side of the counter.

When she opened them, they were wet. "Then at least be smart about it." She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small leather pouch on a string. "Wear this. Old magic. From before my time. It won't stop them, but it might... remind them you're not prey." Selene took it. The pouch was warm in her palm, heavier than it looked. "What is it?" "Wolf's bane. And other things. Just wear it." Selene tied it around her neck. It settled against her chest, warm and strange.

With a casual gesture from Ronald of the Stewart family, a bunch of hefty black cases snapped open all at once. They were packed with crisp, orderly stacks of cash. Alora's knees buckled, and she stumbled backward.

"I've spent three weeks wanting exactly this, wanting you. All of you, not just the careful, guarded pieces you've let the world see." Something broke open in his expression at that, raw and unguarded, and the careful slowness between them gave way at last to something more urgent, more certain, both of them finally, fully choosing each other without hesitation or fear standing between them anymore. His hands found the delicate clasps of her dress with careful, reverent patience, and she helped him with trembling fingers of her own, the last of the night's formality falling away piece by piece until there was nothing left between them but warmth, and trust, and many years of touch finally, c

The garment beneath it was finer than the footman’s coat. Much finer. A sleeve lay folded across the top. Along its edge ran embroidery in pale thread so delicate that I bent closer before I realized I was doing it. Small leaves. Curving stems. Tiny -- I touched one with the tip of my finger. No. Not leaves. Feathers. Each barely wider than the needle that had made it. The footman said something. I did not answer. One section near the lower edge had pulled loose. Three feathers lifted from the cloth. The thread itself had survived.

Shelly hesitated to touch it, afraid that if she did, she would feel obligated to buy it. Hayden reached out and gently touched the fabric.

God knew how much I spent in making that Rangoli How much he spent to mess it. Moving up, I walked towards the mirror just to look at myself a little closer. Looking at myself in the reflection of the mirror made me realize that The white cotton fabric I was wearing turned Red, blue, yellow, green, pink, orange, and whatnot. He didn't touch me only, He touched something behind the skin, His touch was on my skin but it was sending shivers and sensations to the nerves around my neck, the area below my breast, arms, lower abdomen, and especially my spine.

I smoothed the bright blue fabric of my dress over my hips, the sensation of silk against my fingertips almost overwhelming in its intensity. Every thread, every minute texture registered like individual notes in a symphony of touch. I caught Theo watching me from across the room, his eyes warm with devotion that still made my heart stumble in its rhythm. The world had changed overnight—or rather, I had changed. The marking had transformed me in ways I was only beginning to understand, my senses heightened to an almost painful degree, my body humming with unfamiliar power.

“What? What?” “OK, you ready for this?” “Sure am.” He reached into a shopping bag and produced a dress that took her breath away. It was flowy and loose, but had underlying structure. The colors were bright and warm, and she ran her hand over it. The material was soft, comfortable. He was watching her. “Liv said that some materials irritate your skin lately… I thought this would be gentle enough?” She nodded. “Yeah. It’s weird, but my body actually really hurts sometimes, so bad that I can’t stand to be touched. Even cotton is painful.”

“Actually, I spilled a bit of wine on my dress earlier. Stupid, I know. Do you have any idea how to get it out?” He hesitates, but I tug at the neckline, revealing a stain right above my left breast. It’s small but just enough to draw the eye. I lean in, bringing his face level with my chest. “Here. See?” He blinks, and for a second he’s frozen. Then, to my thrill, he reaches for a clean white cloth from a nearby shelf, dampens it, and presses it gently to the spot. His fingers are careful at first, almost clinical, but as he dabs, his knuckles brush my skin, sending sparks everywhere.