She lifted his hands to her mouth and kissed his fingertips, locking their fingers to attend to each of his fingertips individually. “You have beautiful hands,” she murmured, kissing his palms and then his wrists. “Strong. Powerful.”
He watched her as she began looking over his hands, blushing slightly at her compliment. “Well then they are just like the person who holds them,” he says softly, smiling down at her.
“Oh no,” Summer said, against his skin. She shook her head. “I’m not strong or powerful. I’m just a girl, trying to find a place of safety in the world.” Bolder, she kissed a fingertip again, and licked lightly at it, tracing a pointless pattern down the flesh.