The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname


This entry is part 3 of 4 in the series Whispers

They seemed innocent at first.

Touching her on the shoulder to get her attention. Brushing past her in a crowded room. Making contact while training in the Danger Room. (How could anything in that room be innocent?)

They progressed.

Tracing her contours before she even noticed his closeness. Brushing a kiss across her knuckles while whispering, “You’re belle.” Pulling back her hair into a ponytail for her before a training session. (How could anything in that room be innocent?)

She’d catch the brightening of crimson eyes and catch her breath in anticipation.

Touches turned to whispers. Whispers turned to touch.

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