Morana's Point Of View
Getting dressed should not feel like climbing a mountain. But with every stretch, twist, and turn, my body screamed in protest, especially the throbbing ache on my side. I winced as I tried to zip up the soft blue dress I'd pulled from the wardrobe.
"I told you to let me help," came that deep, annoyingly smooth voice from behind me.
I didn't even turn. "And I told you I could manage."
A warm hand caught my wrist, gentle but firm. "You could, but not without grimacing every five seconds."
I sighed, letting go of the zipper.
He stepped closer, his fingers brushing the small of my back as he pulled it up with agonizing precision. "There. Was that so hard?"
I turned my head, shooting him a dry look. "You're enjoying this far too much."
He smirked, brushing a stray lock behind my ear. "Immensely."
And God help me, I let him.
