by Jess M.
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over, she stroked his hair back from his forehead in a gesture that
seemed familiar despite the fact that she rarely did it. He closed his
eyes, leaning into her touch. She hesitated only a moment before letting
her fingers stray slowly down the rough edges of his jaw and back up to
run the sensitive pad of her thumb across his mouth. When he didn't
protest, she scooted a bit closer and cupped his cheek, her fingertips
tickling his ear, her thumb flat against the soft skin of his cheekbone.
'Do you like my face?' he asked, his voice low.
'You know I do,' she replied, her fingers tracing his eyebrows, the soft black curve of his eyelashes against his skin. 'I always have.'"