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An emotionally charged, slow-burn romance

Amelia Hart, a brilliant but emotionally guarded artist, thrives in the sanctuary of her studio—where every brushstroke speaks louder than words. When enigmatic model Daniel Wolfe steps into her life, a canvas of unspoken desires and hidden wounds begins to take form. With his sculpted presence and quiet vulnerability, Daniel becomes both muse and mystery, slowly unraveling Amelia’s carefully curated control.

But beneath the sensual tension lies a deeper storm. As their professional boundaries blur and long-buried pasts surface, Amelia is forced to confront not only her creative demons but also the craving for connection she’s long denied herself. And when Julian, a powerful figure from her past, re-emerges with unresolved claims and a possessive edge, the delicate balance between passion and control begins to fracture.

Set against the backdrop of moody studios, intimate sketches, and emotionally fraught gallery nights, Craving Touch is a story of art, vulnerability, and the raw human longing for touch—not just of skin, but of soul.

Craving Touch!!

The day unfolded with unusual ease.

They didn't talk much. They didn't need to.

Daniel made coffee while Amelia returned to her canvas. They moved around each other with a rhythm that didn't require words—he placed a mug near her hand without interrupting her flow; she leaned against him in passing, her fingers brushing his back without a second thought. It felt natural. Almost… domestic.

And that was what scared her most.

She had spent so long surviving storms, she didn't know what to do with calm.

In the early afternoon, Daniel sat by the window with a sketchpad in his lap. The light framed him like always—golden, reverent. But his gaze wasn't fixed on her this time. He was drawing something else. Someone else.

A face. Masculine. Older. Eyes shadowed.

Daniel didn't look up. "He's still in your head," he said, as if reading her silence.

"He shaped so much of how I learned to see myself," she admitted. "How I hid from myself."

Daniel paused his sketching. "Then let's unshape it."

She looked at him—his calm, his quiet strength—and something in her cracked.

"But what if there's nothing left after?" she asked. "What if all that's holding me together is what he broke?"

Daniel stood and walked to her, placing the sketchpad on her easel, facing her with a gentleness that burned.

"Then we build something new," he said, "not out of the pieces he left… but out of the pieces you've protected."

His words weren't dramatic. They didn't try to fix her.

She reached for his hand. He laced his fingers through hers without hesitation.

And for the first time, Amelia realized—quiet wasn't emptiness.

Beneath the Quite