Summer looked mutinous, but she couldn’t actually come up with a reason to argue with him that didn’t just sound stupid. Gracelessly, she gave in. “I warned you.” She looked at their fingertips, just barely touching, and sighed. “Are you trying to make me feel better with that?” The smile was shy and tremulous, and she turned her hand so his fingertips rested in her palm. “I’m not sure it’s having the kind of effect you wanted.”
Flinching at the rage burning in her eyes, Isaac chanted to himself, attempting to convince his nerves that she was safe and was only being defensive of herself and thus was unlikely to hurt him. But experience had taught him otherwise and he couldn’t help but be wary of her ever increasing anger. “Mostly – it helps calm me down too,” he stated with a shrug, curling his pinky finger around hers, relieved that she wasn’t pushing him away just yet. “What effect is it having?”
“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.”