Rocky's scent is intoxicating.
Like the crisp frost and mist of an early autumn morning. His clothes are cold too, the tailored coat fabric has a fine diagonal weave, brushing gently against Roy's soft breasts as she embraces him.
Roy places her hands on her brother's abdomen, fumbling to undo the buttons as her fingers venture inside. She touches the gently warm shirt, feeling the firm rippling muscle beneath the delicate, silky fabric.
Moving further up, she can feel his taut chest muscles. Her fingertips accidentally graze his left nipple, then feel the fervent pulse of his heartbeat.
She cannot see his face.
From this angle, all she can see is a small patch of pearl-white skin behind his ear. Rocky turns his face away, his right hand gripping the floral curtain, almost tearing the poor linen fabric to shreds.
Roy closes her eyes.
She calls him, "Brother."
After a long pause, Rocky's Adam's apple moves, and he gives a low "Mm."
