The hands are so beautiful, the wrists so slender, the skin on the arm so smooth, I really want to kiss it.
As Dylan Young was getting somewhat addicted to the feel, a gentle female voice sounded above his head: "What are you touching?"
Dylan instinctively replied, "Touching your hand."
"Well... Have you touched it enough?"
Dylan's hand paused abruptly, and he thought to himself, damn, caught red-handed.
However, he didn't let go and raised his head, saying seriously, "No."
Nell Harris blushed and withdrew her hand: "Touch your own."
Dylan sat up; he was sitting on the floor, she was lying on the bed, and when he sat up, their eyes were just at the same level.
He leaned closer to her: "Yours looks nice, feels good, and it's your hand that fell in front of me, letting me touch it. I also..."
