“You do not dislike being in love with a puddle?” Catching her breath, Homily reached for Shesheshen. An offer of consensual touch again. “I’ve been a puddle on the floor too many times myself.” Shesheshen let herself slump into Homily’s hand, forming her shoulder to match however this woman wanted her to feel. “I do not horrify you? You do not want me slain?”
