The scabbing wound itched so much that Sophie Sullivan whimpered like a kitten in his embrace.
Her wrists were tightly gripped by him. Sophie Sullivan woke from her dream, her eyes hazy and veiled by a thin mist. She whimpered, aggrieved and uncomfortable, "Thomas Shannon, let go of me."
"The blood scabs on your face are about to fall off. No scratching."
"But it itches!"
Thomas Shannon firmly held both her hands. He didn't let go even as her body thrashed like a fish out of water, showing no sign of loosening his grip.
"Fennie, be good." Thomas Shannon knew she was uncomfortable. But if he let her scratch, she would scrape off all those blood scabs on her face. If that happened, it would be too late for her to cry over the scars or pitted marks left on her face!
"Just once. Thomas Shannon, can't you just let me scratch it once?"
There was a sob in Sophie Sullivan's voice; she felt like she was being driven mad by him and this unbearable itch.
