He handed her a tissue for her tears. Then he kissed her forehead—soft, almost tender.
“Same time next week?” he asked.
“Count,” he said.
The crawl was slow, deliberate. Her silk dress rode up, but she didn’t stop to fix it. When she reached him, she leaned forward and drank from the glass, lips finding the rim, water spilling down her chin. She didn’t wipe it away. That would be a hand.
He handed her a tissue for her tears. Then he kissed her forehead—soft, almost tender.
“Same time next week?” he asked.
“Count,” he said.
The crawl was slow, deliberate. Her silk dress rode up, but she didn’t stop to fix it. When she reached him, she leaned forward and drank from the glass, lips finding the rim, water spilling down her chin. She didn’t wipe it away. That would be a hand. Tushy - Carolina Sweets - Obedience