It only reminded him of what her skin would feel like. Soft. Warm. Silkysmooth. Burning, again. Shite.Shyly, he glanced up. Her fingers had stopped th...ir twitching, and she was writing. Bent over a bit over the table, head resting in her palmm she was mumbling to herself. Legs crossed, the sock had slid down a tiny bit, showing her white knee.Oh God.Too late to look away. That knee made his eyes wander. Up, up, her stomach, wich wasn't completely flat but had a tiny roll of fat from being bent. ‘Know,’ he said in what he believed was a suitably sombre and sincere tone, ‘that I care for you very much.’ Such language, which seemed to have been lifted from one of her romantic novels, appeased her, and, sensing a victory, Edward leaned in to kiss her. Their lips met in a chaste manner and lingered for a moment, until he felt her tears, cold, streak across his cheeks. ‘I would rather die,’ she said honestly, emotionlessly, ‘than have you touch me.’ He tore from the house, afraid to see. More

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