His hands curled over her cheeks, pulling her face back to his. He kissed her in a way that wasn’t soft, but wasn’t aggressive, only stopping to tug the apron neck over her head and toss it to the side. He backed her into the worktable, his height looming over her as her eyes fluttered closed. His hand dragged down over her painted collarbones, resting between her breasts—where he’d pounded her ribs to get river water out of her lungs. And she wondered what it was they were doing, and if it was wise to let him crack her chest open a second time, just to see if he fit inside.
