I was sitting on Lewis's lap, my arms loosely wrapped around his neck.
The shawl I had brought with me had slipped off my shoulders at some point and now lay forgotten on the floor by my feet.
Being this close to him, I could feel every shift in his body.
The warmth.
The tension held carefully in check.
That night, he had stopped himself at the edge, holding back even when my breath had turned unsteady. I still didn't know how he managed that kind of control. Part of me trembled just thinking about what it would be like if he ever stopped restraining himself.
"I'm… a little scared," I admitted softly.
His hand came up to my face, thumb brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness. His eyes were steady, warm, searching.
"Tell me," he asked quietly, "do you resent me… because of my legs?"
