...the carriage jolts suddenly and you drop your book.You look at me and smile saying 'sorry... I wish this train ride was smoother, don’t you?' as you lean down to pick your book up you put your hand on my thigh and squeeze... looking at me all the time, I realize I can see right down your blouse and you’re not wearing a bra..... Your nipples are hard and erect..... Suddenly you swap seat so you’re sitting beside me... 'You don’t mind if I sit here do you?' you ask.... still your hand is on my thigh. I look at you and manage a husky 'no please do' ........suddenly I don’t care if you slap me I can’t resist... I keep looking at you and slowly move my hand to your hard nipple.... your blouse isn't hiding how hard it is..... I gently flick my finger tip across it and stroke it through your blouse... you let out a small gasp and pull away slightly... first I think your angry but as I glance again at you I see the smile on your lips... I move again to tease your nipple and again you pull. He was passive as it rested on his head. She could feel the pain—a minor thing—but the terror that accompanied it was irrational—otherworldly. It was a living being, feeding on his soul. She could do nothing about that. Ryan McGuire’s inner demons were his own to deal with. She sought deeper and found the damaged flesh and nerve endings in his hand. She could feel the burning, itching flesh beneath the glove—the heat almost soothing in comparison to the cold fear. She felt the stone in her pocket search through her for the fire in his hand and let it go. The pain of the injured hand fled as well. She opened her eyes to find Ryan staring up at her.“What did you do?” he croaked.“Ryan,” she said and caressed his head as he laid it against her thigh. “Take off your glove.”“My glove?” He obediently pulled the black leather glove from his hand. The dried, burned flesh fell away and beneath it was a wholly healed hand. He flexed it as he looked in awe. “You and I could ... As you say, never.
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