Re: Dress Shop
"It does," said in quiet agreement, her voice lacking the purr the other woman had. It was made to fit, like a custom scabbard for a sword forged by iron workers on the battlefield. "Not everyone can wear that suit." And the woman inside made it, not the other way around. The previous occupant had never drawn her eye like this one did, uncertainty and budding confidence garnished with keen desire. Her favorite cup of ambrosia, delivered by Fortuna.
"I know it's not," she whispered, confessional. "But I like the way it looks on you." Her thumb hovered against her lips, feeling them move when she spoke and the wet heat of her breath when she was silent. A crook of her fingers against her jaw, a light drift of fingertips over skin as black eclipsed green in borrowed cat's eyes. "May I show you?"