“The scar,” she said, taking control of a situation that had her feeling as though she were disconnected from gravity, “is here.” Taking his hand, she placed it between her breasts. The gnarled and knotted scar tissue tingled at his pressure and heat.
“Sofia… know what you’re doing?” Glancing up, she found him watching her. Closer than even his touch was his gaze on hers. It might’ve singed her, if she weren’t so cold to begin with.
“I’m showing you my scar. You’re going to look with your hands, not your eyes. Okay?”
"Okay,” he said solemnly, taking what she could spare.