"You don't seem to understand," she said, pressing her hands to her eyes. "Special moments, Z. Moments where it's more than I can handle."
"My sweet boy," she began, setting her hands on his chest, "everything I say is genuine and real. It's rude to assume otherwise."
She gasped a little, her fingers curling in his hair. "You can't just do that, Z," she said breathlessly.
"I know," he replied smoothly, sitting up again, "but I suppose I'll stop. Do you have more work to do?"
She took them, looking up at him. "This feels one-sided," she complained. "What do you like that I do?"
