It’s the place left when Ma no longer brushes your hair for a hundred strokes. When Pa’s no longer there for you to rest your head on his furry belly and scratch behind his ears. It’s raw, always—still—and Killian’s touch exposes it and soothes it at the same time. It’s what I needed. What I missed. And the thoughts don’t make sense, but it doesn’t matter because I’m rapt. He draws his nose along the side of mine and then kisses my forehead. His hands stroke over my shoulders and down my back. He draws me closer. My fingers land on his bare chest. It’s hot to the touch.
