Sometimes, their fingers would brush when they dipped their quills into their shared inkpot and the shock would startle Lore. The brief contact birthed a quick heat that shot from the brush of their hands to her core, and the feel of his fingers against hers would linger long after they’d closed their books for the night. It wasn’t long before she yearned for the day to end, for the patrons to leave, and for Finndryl to step through the little door that led to the kitchen.
I think she might be touched starved
