“Did he touch you?” Her head barely shook, the word a breath. “No.” “Did you want him to?” “No,” she whispered again, the word a short gasp. “Why not?” My nose brushed her jaw when I asked it. The air that had been crackling flamed. She met my gaze, and she lifted that chin. In it was both surrender and defiance. “Because the only person I want to touch me is you.”
