Six Sentences on Sunday
~*~Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, in progress, for your cat — whatever.~*~
“God,” he moaned into his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Bree asked, running her hands over his chest, nails scratching his heated skin.
He grabbed her hands. “Nothing’s wrong.”
She fell away with a huff. When he glanced over his shoulder, she was sitting with her arms crossed over her chest in a pout.
From a fanfic I was writing the other night.