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You have this way of holding a cocktail umbrella like it’s a lethal weapon, and frankly, I’m waiting for you to use it on me.
He didn't just touch my skin; he reached for the hum of my nervous system, dragging his thumb along a ley line I didn't know I had.
The bass from the main stage didn't just vibrate the air; it rearranged the marrow in my bones until I was hers.
I’ve spent half my life in places where a wrong move meant a body bag, yet here I am, worried about your heels.
The way his thumb hooked into his belt loop was more of a geographic landmark than anything I'd seen in the Alps.