Rachel Gillig

To the quiet girls with stories in their heads.
To their dreams—and their nightmares.

I didn’t miss the way Ravyn’s eyes jumped up and down my body. “Much better,” he said

His hands, broad and firm, met me at the dip of my waist, resting a moment on my hips. They were warm, his hands. And I caught myself wondering what the calluses along his palms would feel like against my bare skin.