Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

and ready to run if I had to.
His hand was a bit bigger than mine, and his fingers were
long and sculpted but so chilled. So cold. He took both of my
hands and led me to him. To his face.
“What do you see?” he asked, placing my hands on him
and releasing me.
My fingers splayed across both sides of his face, and I
stood still for a moment, afraid to move my fingers, because
he would feel how much I was shaking. Every inch of my skin
that touched his buzzed underneath the surface, and I almost
pulled away because it tickled so bad.
“You’re tall,” I said, clearing my throat. “When you’re
standing, I mean. Aren’t you?”
I remembered the feel of his body pressed into mine last
time, and even sitting now, the top of his head reached just
above my breasts.
Moving my hands over his face, I took in the smooth skin,
gently brushing his forehead, temples, cheekbones and brow
with my fingertips.
“Young,” I continued, painting a picture in my head. “Oval
face but a hard jaw. Sharp nose.” I lightly pinched where the
bone met the cartilage, smoothing my fingers down the length.
“How did you break it?”
It was just a faint curve the naked eye probably wouldn’t
catch, but I could feel how it bent just slightly in that
centimeter.
“I fell,” he answered.
I cocked my head, reading between the lines. I’d gotten
pretty good and figuring out what people didn’t say.
“Yeah, my mom falls a lot, too,” I told him.
He was clearly punched and didn’t want to elaborate.
Which meant he was either still pissed about it or…
embarrassed and ashamed.