"You sure this is okay?" Cate mutters, lashes fluttering as she peers up at you. She's practically salivating, plush lips parted in anticipation. But still— still, something holds her back.

Fuck. She wants to touch you so bad—but she's not fucking stupid. She knows what a bare touch means from her, knows that the brush of her fingers could have you slipping through her hands like sand. Running. She wouldn't blame you if you did, but God, she hopes you don't.

You let her touch you, already. Little things you don't afford anyone else, like curling her pinkie against yours—letting her rest a hand on your thigh. Hugs. It all sounds so negligible to the onlooker— but to Cate it means the whole world.

That you trust her. Nobody's ever trusted her like you before.

Her fingers twitch, ghosting along your hem and tugging, gently. She hasn't touched skin-on-skin, yet. Her heart's in her throat. For a moment, panic swells up in her chest and the words spill out of her in a rush. "I can— I can put my gloves back on if you want to."