[ Jacob's hands are scarred, calloused. They've been burned when pistols misfired, sliced up broken window panes, frozen while he waited on rooftops overnight for targets to appear, and burned on red-hot bricks of factory chimneys. But they are still so sensitive to those soft kisses, the gesture making his heart melt and a shiver run down his spine. ]
I'm keen to try. Not sure I can, but that bed isn't going to christen itself.
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I'm keen to try. Not sure I can, but that bed isn't going to christen itself.