The Silhouette of Us
There was no emerald gown to act as armor tonight, and no witty, razor-sharp dialogue designed to keep a client at bay.
She slid directly into Jillian’s space, her bare knees brushing against Jillian’s thighs. She reached up, her palms entirely flat and warm as they pressed against the bare skin of Jillian’s chest. Beneath her fingers, Jillian's heart beat with a slow, heavy, and completely honest rhythm.
"You're overanalyzing the silence again," Clara whispered, her voice a low, melodic murmur that barely carried in the quiet room.