There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

The potter’s wheel spins clockwise because he’s left-handed. Moistening the
center of the bat with a sponge, he sets a fresh lump of clay in place. He
flattens the edges with his large palm, sealing with his index finger.
Once the clay is firmly in place, he increases the speed of the wheel and wets
his hands until they glisten in the firelight.
I watch it all, mesmerized.
Cole’s hands are beautifully shaped and marvelously strong. I could watch
them work for hours.
The way he strokes and manipulates the clay reminds me of how his hands
move over my flesh. I feel my skin burning, and not from the heat of the fire.
“Do you want to try?” Cole asks.
“I’ve never made anything on a pottery wheel.”
“Come here. I’ll show you.”
He scoots back on his stool to make room for me. Shucking off his jacket so I
don’t dirty the sleeves, I sit between his thighs, his arms around me.
Cole wets my hands as well, until they’re cool and slippery, his fingers
gliding easily over mine. His warm chest presses against my back, his chin on
my shoulder.
“Use your right hand to push the clay up,” he says. “That’s backward from
normal, but it won’t matter to you because you’ve never done it either way.
Your left hand is the support. That’s right—squeeze the clay inward, and let
it rise up between your hands. That’s called ‘coning up.’ ”
Under his instruction, the softened clay does indeed rise between my hands
like the cone of a volcano.
Cole’s hands cover mine, guiding me. Keeping my motions smooth and
strong. Caressing my skin.
The earthy scent of the clay mingles with the sweet apple and the smoke of
the fire. The crackle of the record player and the pop of the logs send a
pleasant friction down my spine.