“Oi, mate,” he said, jabbing his thick index finger square in the center of Richard's chest. “No need to get grabby, is there?”

“He held up his index finger. 'Rule one: in any dispute between mates, the male is always to blame, even when he is clearly blameless. Rule two'—his middle finger joined the first—'whenever in doubt, refer to rule one.”

“He props his elbow on the table,absently scratches his temple with his index finger, and I remember exactly what that index finger did to me earlier. How he circled my nipples with that finger, how he slipped it between my legs, drenched it with my wetnessand then brought it up to his mouth, licking it, tasting me, his gaze never leaving mine…”

“A few minutes?" Feeling suddenly shy, she crossed her arms over her chest. The smile on his face widened, becoming touched with the feral wildness of the cat. It made thinking difficult. "I believed males needed a longer recovery time to mate.""Not this kitty cat." Rising to his feet, he said, "Get ready to play.”

“he rubbed his feet back and forth on the library carpet and when she walked by, he touched her with the tip of his index finger”

“It sort of floated toward me,” said Ron, illustrating the movement with his free index finger, “right to my chest, and then — it just went straight through. It was here,” he touched a point close to his heart, “I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere. . . .”