His fingers brush against mine as he takes over, working the buttons with careful precision. His movements are steady and controlled, but I notice how he closes his eyes with each accidental touch of his knuckles against my skin.
“Better?” His hands linger on my shoulders when he finishes, his thumbs tracing small circles on the fabric.
I nod, not trusting my voice. When I stand up, Lucian’s shirt falls to mid-thigh on me, covering me decently but leaving my legs bare. I feel small and feminine wrapped in his clothes, like I’ve been claimed in some primitive way.
When I look at him, his gaze sweeps over me slowly, and I see his jaw clench. “You should get dressed.”
“My clothes are still damp,” I point out, gesturing to the garments I washed and left on the nearby rocks to dry. “I rinse
