Even though they were too large to be considered feminine, he thought that her pale hands were beautiful. With long fingers and skin soft and so pale you could see even the smallest vein. Her hands were cool all year, even in the warmth of summer he would shiver at the slightest touch from her and even on the coldest of nights, despite their temperature, every subtle movement by her soft fingers still gave him a warm glowing feel inside.

She would often sit with him for hours on end drawing chaotic yet calming patterns of swirls on his back and chest. Her hands would run across his shoulders and chest, down his side and back up again before changing directory completely. Occasionally she would also skim her fingers across his face, over his lips, cheeks, eyelids, and down the bridge of his nose, using both the tips and backs of her fingers, which were both like silk. Sometimes she would run her fingers through his hair like a gentle comb, scratching through his silky locks and every now and then her nails would scrape softly against his scalp, lulling him to sleep.

On one particular evening they sat by one another drowsily gazing at the television, an empty bottle of wine accompanied by two used wine glasses sat just within reach. The volume coming from the television was a faint lullaby, slowly leading them into unconsciousness. His head was resting in her lap as her hands trailed softly and slowly against his sensitive skin. Her hands claimed all of him as they made their way towards his head. 

He let out a sigh as she started gently twisting and combing her fingers through his silky hair. Her long nails scratched softly against his scalp and he felt the shaking of her body as she chuckled at the kitten-like purr that escaped his lips.