Whispers and Little White Lies - Excerpt 4
Without warning, his hand slipped beneath the Organic-emblazoned, cotton top and caressed the soft tissue of her generous breast. His touch was light. He moved only the tips of his fingers easily over the curvature of her breast, never letting the calloused and cracked flesh of his hand force itself, never allowing the hand to whisper to the breast how different they were, how different their worlds were, but Lastovica knew. He knew his gentle touch belied the weight, the heavy burden, he carried with those fingers and with that calloused and cracked hand. It was a lie, but a small lie. He had not intended to lie and it was a small one.
He turned the fingers so that only their backs, the softer skin, explored her breast and tiptoed over her nipple. What a breast, he thought, how beautiful, beautiful beyond everything he had known, beyond belief! Something will happen, he thought, something more. No, this can't be, he thought. She will look at me and see who I am, see my face, see that my youth is gone. God will see me, he thought. No, it's too late for that. My hand has gone too far. I am only a sinner. He knows me. He will forgive me. If I ask Him, He will forgive me. My hand has gone too far. I cannot say that nothing happened. I have touched it. God forgive me, I have touched it.