For the six sentence may I ask something with Conrad and Fliss,please?♥
The first thing that managed to cut through his terror was the feeling of the rain of his face, the night air chilling it despite how hot the day had been - he felt it sluice down his cheeks through the sweat and grime, blissfully cold against the flush of his fear. Then he felt her hands, then he saw her face, then he heard her voice.
“Fliss?” he managed to ask once his brain began to clear, the horrendous image of the pinup girl (desiccated and gangly and more sinew than flesh) still tattooed on the back of his eyelids...but slowly fading. He hugged her with all the strength left in him, his arms shaking even as they locked around her, and she was so solid against him, so strong; then her hands were on his face again and she was kissing him twice as hard as she had on the Duke, and...
“You scream like a four-year-old girl,” she said when they broke apart, “I just thought you’d probably want to know that.”
He blinked, considered saying something to that...and let out a shuddering laugh instead, pulling Fliss back against him in a hug he hoped would never end.
