we show off our different scarlet letters
'I never said I was faster." Flora counters, doing her best to duplicate Jack's smoulder. "Only that you seem to talk a big game of being hard to handle, and..." She shrugs as her gaze slips to the cut on his hand. "I seem to have gotten you, and.." Pushing her lips together and letting her stare grow slack as she mentally slides his hands up the back of her leg, Flora eventually shakes her head. "..no, it doesn't feel like you've done much of anything to me. But then..." Her smile is crooked and teasing as she shrugs. "I feel like that's a common complaint among women."
No, that isn't a yes or no, which might explain why Flora remains precisely as she is, hand on his chest, feather unrecalled. Part of her wants to kiss him—to bruise her own knees on her hardwood floor and tangle her hands into his hair; part wants to offer him a drink so that he might see how much better she's gotten at drinking whiskey (she's been practicing); but part, and no small part mind you, wants to recall the arrow. It wouldn't kill him—probably wouldn't even be able to puncture him—but would it earn his approval? Would he rub at the wound the way he'd looked at his finger with mild amusement and perhaps a bit of pride?
Would it feel good?
No, that isn't a yes or no, which might explain why Flora remains precisely as she is, hand on his chest, feather unrecalled. Part of her wants to kiss him—to bruise her own knees on her hardwood floor and tangle her hands into his hair; part wants to offer him a drink so that he might see how much better she's gotten at drinking whiskey (she's been practicing); but part, and no small part mind you, wants to recall the arrow. It wouldn't kill him—probably wouldn't even be able to puncture him—but would it earn his approval? Would he rub at the wound the way he'd looked at his finger with mild amusement and perhaps a bit of pride?
Would it feel good?
