In a liquid movement, his arm bent at the elbow, reaching behind his back and clasping my fist in his own. With a gentle movement, he pulled my fingers from the strap. Mortified, I started to tug my hand away. Of course he didn’t want me grabbing at him like that. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I was about to apologize when a jolt went through me. Xyan threaded his fingers through mine, reaching back and down to keep my hand tightly in his. “Here,” he said. “This is better.”
