Entry tags:

Fic: Fingertips (Remus/Hermione)
To: andrian1
From: relly_fortuna

Title: Fingertips
Author: relly_fortuna AKA relativity
Recipient: andrian1
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Remus/Hermione
Setting: Grimmauld Place, the summer after HBP. NOTE: due to one of the recipient's requests, this story is a mild AU. The Remus/Tonks bits of HBP didn't happen and won't be referred to here - everything else stands.
Warnings: None, really. The sex is more or less vanilla, which isn't to say dull. (At least I hope not.) She's 17, and he's an adult - which means she's old enough, legally speaking, but if that seems iffy to you, ye've been warned.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. JKR does. This is why she's very rich and I'm not.
Author's notes: Beta'd by the always awesome D. Structuring help and sounding-board-ness provided by both D. and R. Much, much thanks.

Hermione Granger was slowly becoming obsessed with Remus Lupin's hands.

They were weather-beaten and calloused, and marked with flecks of ink. She liked to sneak glances from her perch on the couch when she was quite certain he wasn't looking, entranced by the way that his fingers held the quill, as he dipped it into an inkstand and scribbled notes on spare parchment. Now and again, he would set it down and rub his eyes, or pinch the bridge of his nose. His left hand rested idly on the large tome on his desk; his thumb would slide out now and again to flip a page, or the other fingers to smooth a corner.

When he was thinking very hard, he would dart his tongue out to touch it briefly to his upper lip, and then purse both lips together. If he was concerned, he would worry the side of his lower lip between his teeth. Occasionally, he would suck in the very center of his upper lip and chew on it lightly.

His lips were nearly as fascinating as his hands.

She wanted to stomp over there and throw that quill across the room and suck slowly and delicately on every single one of his fingers. She wondered what his hands would taste like: a bit of the musty old books they'd been immersed in, dark and bitter from the inkstains, maybe a crisp tang of tea smudged along the edges. And that deep musky scent which was Remus's and Remus's alone.

"Hermione?" He was looking at her now, concerned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Oh! Yes, I'm – I'm quite all right. Just a bit, you know, overwhelmed." She gestured vaguely to the room around them.

His eyebrows furrowed. "If it's starting to affect you –"

"It isn't."

"You need to be careful, Hermione. These books have a lot of dark magic in them."

"I know," she insisted.

"Which means a room full of them can be fairly dangerous."

She squared her chin. "They're books, Remus. Books, I understand."

It was still difficult to call him "Remus" and not "Professor Lupin" at times. But she was an Order member now, and fully seventeen, so it seemed twee to continue calling him "Professor." Particularly as he hadn't held that position in years.

"I still don't like this." He considered her for a moment longer before returning to his book.

The Order of the Phoenix – what was left of it – was congregated once more at Grimmauld Place. The Order had been a bit at sea after Dumbledore's death, but Professor McGonagall had stepped in and taken charge in her usual efficient manner. Hermione had suggested researching in Grimmauld's own library for references to Horcruxes, an idea which McGonagall had approved of but Remus had argued strenuously against, given the House's traps and strongs associations with Dark magic. Failing to talk her out of it, he'd instead decided to tackle the mission with her. They had quickly worked out a system, and had spent the past few weeks cutting through the massive shelves at a rather impressive rate.

The rate would probably be faster if she hadn't spent so much time staring at Remus's fingers.

She sighed and set her book down. "Perhaps I should call it a night after all."

"That's probably for the best." He looked down at his own book. "Possibly for both of us."

* * *

Remus shook his head as they climbed the stairs. "The ones I've had lately seem to be devoted to protective charms. If we had a better idea of how the books are catalogued – whether that's a coincidence, or if they're categorized by topic – we might be able to skip some areas entirely."

Hermione turned right at the top of the stairs, as always, and was slightly surprised to see him do the same. "Protective charms are a bit outside the scope of Dark magic. Maybe you're in a more neutral section?"

"I'm using 'protective' loosely, I'm afraid. These authors endorse a rather vigorous programme of home security."

"Oh. That would allow for rather a lot, then." She grasped her door handle, then turned around to face him. "Did you – need something?"

He stared at her for a moment before realization dawned. "Why did I –" He looked around. "Sorry, I must be more tired than I thought. I seem to be walking on automatic pilot."

"It's fine." She smiled, and wondered why her heart was beating so quickly. "I didn't know if – you were escorting me to my door, or if you needed something from my room."

"No, it would seem that I'm incapable of talking and walking at the same time and doing both correctly." He returned her smile, but a touch quizzically, as if he was trying to remember a song lyric that was going round his mind.

"Good night, then."

"Good night, Hermione."

Neither of them turned away. The moment hung in the air, lazily spinning itself out. Hermione's feet wouldn't move. She took a deep breath and looked up at him, and saw that he still had that curious expression on his face. His eyes transfixed her; she was drowning, gasping for air and only breathing in more water. Her eyes couldn't leave his face, and his were passing curiously over her eyes, lips, cheeks as if she were someone unfamiliar. She could taste his breath, mingling with his cologne and his Remus-just-Remus scent, so close and just out of reach.

"Remus?" It still tripped oddly off her tongue.

"Yes?" His voice was lower, and he inched a step closer.

Her mouth opened and no sound came out. She couldn't find a single bloody word to ask what she wanted to ask. As she leaned in, she decided that she didn't need any.

Her hand snaked around the back of his neck and pulled his face down to hers. His lips brushed hers, lightly, firming as he gathered her to him. She stretched up against him and dove in to the kiss. His tongue teased her lips as he caressed one, than the other, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and nibbling on it. She opened her mouth and drew him closer.

The kiss turned ravenous. Hermione twisted one hand into his hair and writhed. He angled his mouth on hers, hungry and demanding, as he pushed her back against her door. Hermione felt the door handle dig into her lower back and reached one arm behind her, fumbling blindly towards it.

Just as her fingers found it, he pushed away from her. They stood for a moment, blinking at one another. His expression was unreadable.

And then he turned on his heel and marched away.

* * *

Hermione closed the bedroom door behind her and realized she was trembling.

She wanted, she wanted, she wanted – she didn't have words for what she wanted. She wanted to march down to his bedroom and throw his door open and hold him down and do unspeakable things to him. She wanted to claw his back and nibble on his neck and suck on those delicious fingers and and and and

She covered her eyes. You've just mauled one of your professors, whose help you need saving the bloody world. Brilliant, Hermione.

A dead sexy professor, who is electrifying and seductive and nibbles when he kisses and – oh hell.

She changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time, thinking of everything and nothing all at once.

* * *

Hermione stood outside the library and hoped that she didn't have dark circles under her eyes. She'd barely slept, but she didn't want him to know that, unless he hadn't, either, in which case she did – or did she?

Bloody hell, they never write books about the messy bits like this, Hermione thought. She took a deep breath and entered the library.

Remus sat, stiff and glowering, behind his desk. He didn't look up when she came in. "Hermione."

"Remus," she said, and her stomach did a nervous somersault. "I didn't –"

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I apologize for the incident which took place last night. It was inappropriate and unseemly and it shan't happen again."

His voice was harsh. His quill moved furiously over the parchment.

"Did I –" Hermione felt her cheeks burn as she hugged her arms. "I'm sorry that I – upset you."

The quill hiccuped and stilled, splattering a tiny drop of ink. Remus cleared his throat, and his tone wavered for a moment. "You didn't upset me, Hermione."

He started writing again, more slowly this time. Hermione realized that the quill was trembling.

Hermione stared for a moment, taking him in. His head was resolutely set down; his eyes hadn't lifted from the desk once. His face was expressionless, except for one muscle in his left cheek that twitched faintly whenever she spoke. His arms were locked, tense, and his hand was squeezing the quill so hard that it was bowing out. And if he pressed it any harder on the parchment, the nib was going to come clean off. Her mind whirled.

She stepped closer to the desk, and dropped her tone of voice. "I don't think it was inappropriate."

This time, when the quill stuttered to a stop, it left an ink blotch nearly the size of a Knut. "It was," he said, coldly.

I was right, I was right, I was right. She felt powerful and giddy and intoxicated and a bit like she needed to sit down. She took a deep breath. "Surely I get in a say in that."

"No. You don't." He continued scribbling notes furiously in the margins of his paper. She wondered for a moment if he was writing anything but gibberish.

It was time for a new tack. "I've been thinking about that idea you had. About sections and categories."

"Oh?" he asked. Still toneless.

"Yes, I think it's time to explore a new section entirely." She picked a shelf at random and squinted up at the top row. "Like these. These look promising."

Hermione could swear she'd seen a flicker of his eyes. Ha. Good.

"If you like."

She leaned up on her tiptoes to peer at the books. "Like this one." She took a deep breath, tucked her hair behind her ears, and stretched upward, feeling the bottom of her shirt brush up against her rib cage. She hadn't tucked her white blouse into her skirt, so the shirttails were barely reaching her waist. "If I can get it."

There was a pause. "Perhaps it would be wiser to select a more accessible tome?"

"This one looks important." She squared her shoulders and reached up again, teetering just a bit higher. By now her skirt had to be –

She tipped forward a bit, and saw the top shelf tilt threateningly. Dammit! She lunged upward to right it and only managed to grab the edge closer down, which was starting to spill the –

Strong hands clamped over her wrists and shoved the shelf roughly back into place.

He was standing behind her, glowering. She could feel the heat of it boring into the back of her skull.

She turned to face him – or tried to, but he wouldn't let go of her wrists. He pushed her hands against the edges of the bookcase. Her protesting squeak was interrupted by a low growl. "Leave them there."

"Lea –" She cleared her throat and tried again. "Leave –"

"Your hands. Where I can see them." And with that, his own fingers began trailing up the outside of her arms.

She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath.

When his hands reached her shoulders, he inhaled deeply, then gathered her hair into a loose knot with his hands and kissed just behind her right ear.

Hermione whimpered. Her knees buckled, and she sank back against his chest as he began nibbling. At the base of her throat, his tongue darted out, and he started licking long, slow strokes up the side of her neck. She gasped, and broke her hold on the shelves to clutch at his hair with her right hand.

Remus chuckled against her neck. She felt his grin as he kissed, lightly, and murmured, "Hands, Hermione." And with that the fingers of his right hand intertwined with hers, and eased her hand back to its previous spot on the shelves. "Where I can see them."

He let her hair spill down again, kissing the top of her head as his hands circled her waist.

She nodded. "Hands. Where you can. See them."

His hands were now sliding up the inside of her blouse, his touch light on her skin, as he cupped her breasts and squeezed, lightly. His left hand began working its way delicately under the fabric of her bra, nuzzling against the soft skin on the underside of her breast.

She bit her lip to stifle a moan, and arched back against him.

His right hand glided down the smooth planes of her stomach, stopping only when he hooked a single finger inside the waistband of her skirt and traced the skin there. He hesitated for a moment to kiss the back of her head reassuringly before wriggling his hand just underneath the satin of her knickers.

Hermione froze. Every inch of her felt white-hot and raw, her skin blistering where he touched her.

He left his fingers resting idly against her mons as she breathed in and tried to steady herself. He pressed his face against her shoulder and placed tiny kisses on it. He nudged his hand forward, and his index finger slid between her folds to rub gently against her clit.

She choked on a gasp, her head falling forward against a shelf. She was clenching her fists against the frame so hard that her knuckles were white. She inhaled deeply, the low, dusty air of ancient tomes just before her, and the sour tang of Remus's sweat and musk behind.

He nibbled lightly on her shoulder as they rocked together. As he stroked her – slowly, deliberately – she pressed downward, riding the pad of his fingertip, his wonderful smooth slippery fingertip which was moving the most exquisite circles round and round. She began thrusting herself against him, and then he bit her, not another nibble like she was expecting, but open-mouthed and fierce. She screamed and rode against him that much harder. He was growling, growling – she threw her whole body against the bookshelf – her breath wouldn't come, she was going to explode any moment -

Suddenly, Remus's arms locked around her waist and lifted her, scooping her out of the way just as the bookcase rocked one last time and toppled over onto the floor.

"Are you all right?" His breath was low in her ear.

She nodded and tried to determine which way was up.

At that moment, the door burst open. "Is everything all right? We heard a – oh, dear!" Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened in shock.

"It's all right, Molly. Hermione was trying to get a book from one of these shelves and it tipped a bit. We're fine."

Mad-Eye Moody stepped into the room and began searching it with his magical eye. "Anyone hurt? Any signs of what did it?"

"My dear, you're shaking." Mrs. Weasley looked from Hermione to Remus. "Did she get hit at all?" She took Hermione's hands in hers and then began checking her over for bruises.

"I think one of them grazed her, actually." Remus folded his arms and pretended to consider it. "Might have given her a bit of a lump."

"I'm – I'm okay." Her voice sounded thick, slurry. She felt a twinge of annoyance. Why did Remus sound so composed?

She was duly tsked. "Look at you. Shaking like a leaf. Those are heavy books, dear, you could have a concussion."

Moody knelt, inspecting the turned-over shelf. "Room's full of dark magic, you know. Anything might happen."

"Alastor, I think Hermione might just have bumped against it a bit while trying to get to one of the higher shelves. I doubt it's the work of some sort of trap." Remus began sifting through debris.

Moody raised one eyebrow. "Might have bumped it? Lupin, these are solid, heavy structures, now. You can't just bump them and have them go bottoms-up. You would have to give them a good solid thumping." He raised both hands in front of him and mimed shoving an invisible bookshelf repeatedly.

Which was when the absurdity of the whole situation struck Hermione, who had to clap her hand over her mouth to contain her sudden fit of the giggles.

It earned her another thorough tsking. "There, there, dear. You're having hysterics. It's all right. Let's get you upstairs and into bed."

* * *

Hermione sighed and straightened the bedcovers. "I promise you, I'm fine."

Mrs. Weasley meant well, but she'd been fussing over Hermione for hours now, checking the side of her head and sighing over a goose egg that wasn't there, taking her temperature, bringing her lunch on a tray, making a cold compress.

"Are you sure I shouldn't Floo Madame Pomfrey? She could nip round in no time."

"Mrs. Weasley, please." She sat up straighter. "I don't need a mediwitch, not for a bump to the head."

Mrs. Weasley folded her arms. "I don't like it when you children get yourselves hurt."

"It was a fluke accident. And I'm fine, really, I was barely hit at all. I was just a bit – shocked when it all came down like that, is all." She bit her lip. "I think we're all a bit – on edge lately. Jumping at shadows."

There, Mrs. Weasley's face softened. "It's awful, isn't it? We're all nothing but raw nerves."

Hermione nodded. "I think the rest did me a world of good. I'm feeling much calmer now. I really must get back to researching, though."

"If you're certain you're all right." Mrs. Weasley surveyed the room, still seeming worried.

"Positive. If I start feeling woozy or anything, I'll come tell you straightaway."

"I guess then you're right. But do be careful, dear? I think that room's a bit – dangerous somehow." Mrs. Weasley gathered up the compress and lunch tray and finally, finally, finally, left.

Hermione hopped out of bed, feeling a little twinge of guilt for being manipulative, which she quickly dismissed. She had important matters to attend to, the sooner the better.

Dangerous. If Mrs. Weasley only knew the half of it.

* * *

She swept into the library, wondering if he was going to be angry or predatory or pedantic or –

"Or not here at all," she announced to the empty room. "Brilliant." She wandered over to his desk and sat down in the oversized chair he always used. It smelled a bit like him, just overlying the flat tone of the leather.

Should she go hunting for him? No. He might be on a mission, or he might be hiding in his room. He would come here sooner or later; he was just as drawn in as she was. She was sure of it now.

And in the meantime, she could always get acquainted with his desk.

She'd made her way through two drawers, mostly stashed with papers, and was browsing a third when she heard a cough from across the desk.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

She sat up quickly. "I didn't hear you come in."

His face was cloudy. "That much was evident." He gestured to the desk. "Did you find anything you liked?"

She settled back in the chair. "No," she said.

He folded his arms. "So which of us is transferring assignments?"

She considered him for a moment. "Neither of us. Why would we?"

"Is that your idea of a joke?"

"No. Is this yours?"

He laughed, harshly. "Do you even understand that – if I were to go in there and tell them what happened –"

Hermione folded her arms. "I don't care what they think. I don't see why you should."

"Because they would be right!" He slammed one hand onto the desk. "You're far too young for me to be having some innocent romance with, much less something sexual, much less anything like what happened this morning!"

"I'm seventeen!" She stood up angrily, knocking the chair back a few inches.

"Oh, right. Dear me, what was I was thinking? Obviously, seventeen, that changes everything. That means you're certainly old enough for me to fuck you."

She flinched. She could feel that tingling again, as though her skin had been chafed raw and someone was blowing cool air onto it.

"Hermione. This is not a game." He stared at her.

"I know," she said. "I'm not playing a game."

"Then why did you come down here?"

"I – Because I –" She looked up at him, helpless. "I –"

"Is that it, Hermione?" His voice was almost a purr. "You want me to fuck you?"

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to stop her head from swimming.

He reached across the desk to trace her jaw with one finger, then tilted her chin up. "Hermione?"

She opened her eyes again. "Please," she said. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to say more, but all that came out again was "Please."

His mouth pressed against hers, hard and demanding. His hands flattened against her back, then grabbed fistfuls of her shirt to pull her in closer. His tongue slid into her mouth – now insistent, now teasing – and he nipped at her lips with his teeth. Hermione moaned and tangled her fingers into his hair.

Remus broke the kiss and stepped out of her arms, and she sank against the desk to keep from falling over. Her knees were wobbling and her breath wasn't coming right at all.

Hermione heard the lock click into place, and a few muttered charms from Remus reinforced its security.

He turned around and grinned. She could almost see fangs. "Take your shirt off."

Hermione sat down on the edge of the desk. "My shirt?"

Remus nodded, leaning back against the door. "Off. Now."

Hermione fumbled with the top button, then stopped her hands from trembling long enough to unfasten the second and third. She was reaching nervously for the fourth when she thought better of it. Instead she took the button into her hand and caressed it, slowly, before unhooking it and slowly peeling the shirt open to expose more of her stomach.

Remus's sly smirk told her she was doing just fine.

When she finished with the buttons, she slid the shirt off her shoulders, wriggled each arm out, and tossed it onto the floor.

"Now the bra."

Hermione eased the straps down, one at a time, and then reached behind her for the clasp. Which didn't seem to be cooperating. She wriggled a bit, trying to reach the last hook.

Remus raised one eyebrow. "Problems?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't usually have an audience for this."

"You should," he murmured. His grin was positively sinful. He was all smooth planes and fluid lines. She was drinking in the sight of him, drawn most to the powerful erection straining the front of his trousers.

Her stomach did another flip-flop. The final clasp came free in her hands, and the bra slipped down. She caught her hands to it, a small bit of lace still covering her breasts.

"And?" he gestured.

She tossed her hair back and held the cups up, playfully. "I'm creating suspense."

"I don't like suspense." He pushed off from the wall and walked towards her, slowly. "Off."

She held onto the fabric. "Or?"

He stopped in front of her, and a smile flickered across his face. "Or this."

In one motion his hands pried the bra from hers and tossed it across the room. He stepped between her knees, pushing them apart with his thighs. He reached around to pull her closer to the edge as his mouth dipped to cover one nipple.

Hermione wrapped her knees around his waist, clutching at the back of his shirt. He slipped one hand around to hurriedly undo his own buttons, and she heard the clatter as a few popped free and landed on the floor. In another moment he was wrenching the shirt away from him, and she drew him back to her breasts again, raking her nails along his back.

She felt his hands slide up, pulling her skirt higher, until he caught the edge of her knickers and smoothly pulled them off. His back rippled as he moved, the muscles shifting over one another, and she wriggled against him, using her knees to bring him closer. She couldn't get close enough. She couldn't touch him enough. She wanted four hands, six, eight, to squeeze here and pull there and one to tangle in his thick hair and another to lay flat over those sliding muscles and another to slide down his chest and at least two to caress that gorgeous cock which was now digging into her thigh.

As he eased back and switched to her other breast, licking slow circles around her nipple, she slid one arm between them and traced down his front, the fuzz of his chest hair tickling the back of her hand. When she twisted her hand around to fumble with his belt buckle, she saw all of his muscles clench at once. He breathed out, harshly, and the sudden rush of cool air on her wet nipple made her squirm.

He eased back and she felt his hand cover hers, manipulating the buckle and the top button of his trousers deftly. His hand squeezed hers, gently, before dropping down to work his zipper free. Her hand was free to slip nimbly inside the opening of his trousers and ease inside the top of his y-fronts to brush against his rigid cock.

He leaned against her with a low moan. His lips worked their way up from her breasts to the side of her throat. She squeezed, and then slid the loose velvet-fine skin up and down the length of his shaft. She felt him reach both hands now to wriggle out of his trousers and peel the y-fronts from around his erection to drop to his ankles.

He covered her mouth hungrily with his, then pulled back to step out of his pants. Impulsively she hopped down from her perch on the desk's edge and pushed him a bit further, giving her just enough room to drop to her knees. She placed a sloppy, wet kiss on the tip of his cock.

He yelped, grabbing at the back of her head clumsily to urge her forward. She teased the head with swirled licks of her tongue, then sucked the very tip of it into her mouth and out again, teasing the underside with light flickers of her tongue.

He tipped his head back, his mouth hanging open, and he twined his hands through her thick, wiry hair. She curved one hand around his leg and lifted it slowly until it cupped his arse, round and smooth. The other hand was now fisted around the base of his cock as she took him further into her mouth.

He was moaning now, deeply, as he thrust forward into her mouth. She teased her tongue along the length of his shaft, fluttering around and upward when she reached the head again. His hands were urging her on. His skin tasted divine.

Suddenly he stopped. His fingers pressed her forehead back, and she looked up at him questioningly.

"No," he panted.

She squeezed her hand, and his cock danced in response. Its vein was standing out more prominently; it seemed larger, which she wouldn't have believed possible a few moments before. Her eyes held his as she eased forward and circled around his head again with a quick flicker of his tongue.

His eyes slammed shut and he moaned, then growled and pressed her away again. "No." He bent over and hooked his arms under her thighs, pulling her off the floor as if she weighed nothing. She obligingly wrapped her arms around his neck as he stood up, maneuvering her so that her legs were around his waist.

"No?" she asked.

He stumbled forward. "No," he answered, "meaning I'm not finishing in your mouth."

He used one leg to kick his chair further away from the desk, then turned them both around to drop into the seat, with her straddling his lap. She grabbed at the back of the chair, scrabbling to recover her balance; her knees kept sliding on the smooth surface. His hands steadied her, pulling her closer and nudging her knees apart.

She felt his slick head resting against her folds. He rocked his hips very lightly, slowly, pushing just the very tip inside of her.

Hermione's blood pulsed like lava. She wanted needed craved and if he didn't fill her right now her head was going to explode. So she lifted herself up, carefully, captured his mouth in one searing kiss, and drove her body down as hard as she could.

She felt him gasp into her mouth. It only took him an instant to recover. His hands were everywhere, curving down her back, tangling in her hair, and then they settled on her hips, anchoring her to him as he thrust upward.

She nibbled on his lips, shuddering, and clutched the chair harder. His hips rode up to meet her thighs, pumping furiously. He urged her forward just a bit, deepening the angle, and stifled a cry. She squeezed her eyes shut and mashed her lips against his. She smelled the leather again, hot and sticky with sweat this time. She was sobbing, grasping, riding him faster, so close so close so close.

Hermione screamed as the orgasm ripped through her, convulsing and frenetic and heady and explosive. She sat upright for a few seconds, gasping desperately for air, then collapsed against his chest.

He smiled and pulled her hair away from her face, laying a quick kiss against her cheek. She nuzzled his shoulder in response, lazy and sated. He pulled her hips forward, slowly, and she could feel herself falling again. She wriggled her way upright and sank down on him again, just a bit faster, just a bit deeper, just a bit harder, just a bit more –

This time it was him who screamed, low and guttural, as he spasmed inside her. His head slumped back against the chair, drops of sweat beading down his face. She curled forward again, head on his chest, and snuggled in.

He spoke first. "I won't say that I'm sorry."

She pressed her lips against his skin. "I would hope not."

He looked down at her, considering, then leaned in for a slow, drowsy kiss. "That was – I'm at a loss for words."

"Then don't say anything." She settled in against him again, thinking. "Remus?"

He looked down at her.

"What do we do now? I mean." She bit her lip.

He kissed her forehead. "I don't know. I'm not sure what this means. Or what's next. You?"

She shook her head.

"Maybe we'll make it up as we go along." He gathered her in to his chest.

She smiled. "I think I'd like that."