“I walk into the moonlit room and hear the click of the door behind me. A heartbeat later his presence is at my back. He stands there, hovering, the only contact the heat that simmers off his body onto mine. Then I feel it – a fingertip, or perhaps the back of his finger, moving slowly up and down my spine.”

“I walk into the moonlit room and hear the click of the door behind me. A heartbeat later his presence is at my back. He stands there, hovering, the only contact the heat that simmers off his body onto mine. Then I feel it – a fingertip, or perhaps the back of his finger, moving slowly up and down my spine.”

— Iris Ann Hunter