Something between a moan and a gasp slips out from Pelo's mouth. Her stare? Decidedly unpleased with Maddie's fowardness.
Her nipple? Hard enough to poke through her clothes; potentially hard enough to cut diamond.
Pelo's tone goes low as she runs a hand over her one cheek, as if that would make the subtle crimson glow of a blush vanish.
"Think I preferred you as the deadpan 'death speaks in poems' kind of freak, and not the kind to begin showing, like, HALF a smile when she talks to me--"