Oh, he thinks. Hannibal, of course, stores away this moment. The blue of her eyes, the darkness of her hair. He captures lips, nose, throat movements. Like a squirrel stores nuts, Hannibal stores away the feeling of Alana’s lips against his hand and the electricity that flowed from palm to loins. Through hooded eyes, he watched her and marked his own lust for her growing. “Hm.”
An aching breath and Hannibal squeezes Alana’s hand lovingly. “Don’t be. As tragic as it is, all things are for a reason. Besides, it doesn’t hurt as much if we consider this as a learning experience.”
It pained her to see him shrug it off so casually. But if it were her, she would be the same way. She wouldn’t want others to pity her, to try to make the matter far more worst than it actually was. Fingertips move up to his hair once more, allowing the pads of her fingers to project a soothing sensation.
“Hungry?” She raised a brow, making her best efforts to make him a comfortable as possible.