Page 66 of Molt

I run my fingertip down the length of his finger attached to my hand.

August closes his eyes. “Lenora.”

“You’re feeling this.”

“Yes.”

I do it again.

Something about having part of him attached to me should horrify me.

It does. But there is something else beneath that horror. Something intimate. Possessive. Wrong.

My body responds before my brain can catch up. I step closer.

August opens his eyes. “Stop.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep doing things you shouldn’t.”

“You told me not to peel.”

“Correct.”

“Not to touch you.”

“Correct.”

“Not to kiss you.”

“Correct.”

“And we’ve done fucking amazing with all three.”

His mouth twitches. “Lenora.”

I put my hand against his chest. The six-fingered one.

His breath changes.

So does mine.

“We should stop.”

“Then move.”

He doesn’t.

“Move, August.”

Still nothing.

I look up at him. “You don’t actually want me away from you.”

“I desperately want you away from me.”

“No.”