She ached to feel his touch again – his hand caressing her arm or tickling her stomach, followed by her giggles and his compliments on her soft skin. She loved that he appreciated the sensual details like how her skin felt or how she smelled. She knew it was the gift of the writer, the power of observation.
And now more than ever, she needed him. She needed someone to tell her secrets to and to laugh at her jokes, but most of all let her cry. Her whole life she pretended she didn't have any feelings, they would only make her appear weak. She was always the strong one, the one others turned to for comfort and advice. But now that she needed that same comfort and advice they were gone. And he was gone. The only person she could be herself around and let down her guard had left her. She knew she shouldn't get attached to him, that getting emotional meant making yourself vulnerable to hurt.
The night she finally cried in front of him, she felt naked, exposed. But, he took her in his arms a