Amelia Clarke was encircled in Owen Moreland's arms, her hand held under the faucet as the cold water gently poured down, the cool sensation replacing the pain.
His embrace was broad and warm, just like him, giving off a trustworthy and very reassuring feeling.
Her nose was filled with the faint scent of tobacco and male hormones emanating from him, an aroma that inexplicably made Amelia's ears heat up, causing her to squirm uncomfortably.
"I, I can do it myself..."
"Don't move!" Owen remained motionless, his tone as serious as ever.
Amelia struggled a few times without success, bit her lip, and stopped struggling.
His strength was too great, his arms like cast iron and bronze, not something she, a petite girl, could possibly shake.
The kitchen was extremely quiet, with only the sound of rushing water, and... the faint sound of breathing overhead.
She quietly looked up.
