Silas Hawthorne has a slutty fucking waist. But his hands. Silas’s hands are large, with wide palms and long fingers that move with subtle grace as he makes his coffee. The veins beneath his skin rise up like a miniature mountain range, running across his knuckles and trailing past his wrist to his arms. They squeeze and hold things with such force but a softness I’ve never seen. His hands make this feeling knot in my stomach.
