[There isn't any more to the thought when she says it, and once he stops, it takes her another few breaths to catch up enough to be able to start thinking again. Even before then she is very, very aware of the contact on her skin, too close and yet too far--too carefully, surreally still, like a program waiting for a command--like imagination trying to stay in a dream after having mostly woken up.

And it's suddenly clear how this can't, couldn't be real, to be fitted together so neatly--treated so preciously--for everything to feel so right.

It comes on slowly enough that she doesn't attempt to scramble away or anything, not that that would do anything to calm her pulse or dull the flush over her body. Still, it's probably obvious from this close how the long, shaky breath she draws isn't quite the same timbre as before.]

Ah...