"Here." He took my hand and placed it against his cheeks. "Do you feel how warm these are?"
My knees quaked; and it was almost warm, his usually icy skin. But I barely noticed, for I was touching his cheeks, something I'd dreamed of constantly since the first day I'd seen them run away from me.
"Don't move," I whispered.
No one could be still like Fredward. He closed his eyes and became as immobile as stone, a David under my hand.
I moved even more slowly than he had, careful not to make one unexpected move. I caressed one cheek, delicately stroked the other, and cupped the small but pert hollow beneath them. I traced the shape of his perfect cleavage, letting my fingers run like gazelles in his basin. I could feel his loaves loosen and part, and I wanted nothing more than to lean in and inhale the scent of him. So I dropped my hand and leaned away, not wanting to push him too far.
He opened his eyes, and they were hungry. My muscles tightened, stomach in knots and my pulse hammered; I wasn't afraid.
"I wish," he whispered. "I wish you could understand the... complexity... the confusion... I feel. I wish that you were capable of... understanding."
He raised one hand to my hair, then carefully brushed it across my face.
"Tell me," I breathed.
"I don't think I can. I've told you, on the one hand, the hunger—the thirst—that, deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that,

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Chapter 13

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