"Do you know how to give a massage?"
He shook his head shyly, unfitting with their nakedness. The storm had passed, and now pain was setting in. Outside, if eyes were cast on them, shimmering in afterglow and satiety, they looked like children in after play. Innocent and unaware.
"Your hands, like your mouth and eyes, can speak for your heart," She took him by the wrist, pressing a thumb into his palm; embedding her words deeper in his body than his mind. "Where, do you think, are the gates to your heart from your hands?"
He told her.
That's where you can inflict the least harm, and the most affection, she told him.
She laid down on her stomach, her naked back to him. Press with them, she said, imagine that you can only speak to me through your hands. Synchronize your breath with mine. The deeper you breathe, the deeper you press. Make a wish that I get better with every time you press, and imagine your wish spreading under my skin, soothing my pain.
Does it really work like that?
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