“I think it’s because I know you don’t do touch,” she said musingly. “It’s a bit … it makes me want more. Like how Victorians considered seeing an ankle erotic.” She took a deep breath and made herself relax. “I’m not angry.”
“I trust you enough to do this,” he stated simply as if it were obvious, before his eyes widened in surprise at her unexpected comment. “Really? I…I could try holding your hand but I don’t know…you won’t get mad if I freak out a little bit, will you?”
It took her a moment to realise how he’d heard what she said. “Oh — I, um … no, I won’t get mad. I might … other things, but I won’t get mad.” She held very still, as if he was a wild animal that might flee at sudden motion.