Compilation Of Short Stories
Her calloused palm scraped against his impossibly smooth skin, her thumb tracing the lines of his knuckles.
“This is just skin on skin,” she said softly, her gaze locked on their joined hands. “Pressure. Temperature. Texture. That’s all. No transaction. Just… sensation.”
For Xaphan, it was a supernova. In his world, touch was always a prelude, a tool, a demand. This was just… being. The rough warmth of her skin was a symphony. The gentle pulse of blood beneath her wrist was a rhythm he wanted to learn. He closed his eyes, drowning in the mundane miracle of it.