He’d never imagined hair like the natural-born’s—so dark and shadowy and wild, arms and legs crisscrossed with it and a thin line that trailed from the navel down into a tangled knot at his crotch. On the face, too, short black hairs smoothed along his jaw and ringed his mouth. Rogue curls covered the top of his head. How would hair like that feel against the back of Davin’s neck? Against his face? What did it smell like, taste like? He wanted to press his nose and lips into its depths to find out.
There was something exotic about the way water beaded along that dusky skin, darker than Davin’s own. He moved nearer, wanting to close the distance between them. What was it like where this man came from? How did it feel to live among a million different faces and never have to look upon your own?