Back when Grace didn't know John Amster's true identity, she would contact him every now and then—she wasn't shy about expressing her needs.
His lips, as gentle as a spring breeze, brushed against the corner of hers, sending a barely perceptible shiver through her body.
Then, that delicate touch slowly moved upward, gliding over the tip of her nose—like morning dew kissing the petals of a flower, soft and pure.
Next, his gaze deepened, turning into an invisible caress as his lips grazed her closed eyelids. A silent confession, spoken without words. Even with her eyes shut, Grace could feel the warmth behind his touch, her lashes fluttering in response.
Finally, his tenderness came to rest on her forehead—a kiss light as a feather, yet bright as the most brilliant star in the night sky. It illuminated her world, drawing their hearts ever closer. At that moment, time seemed to freeze, leaving behind only the quiet whisper of their entwined souls.
