Continuation of "beginning of story I have been posting from"

His hand lingered on my shoulder before running down my spine. His hand was calloused, and I could feel it's courseness through my dress. It was like being petted. I almost liked it. Poor Demetri, so innocent for his age.
I had met death many times before. So much, it seemed like a love affair. Demetri was scared, and so was I, but this was not new to me. I looked back at him with a slightly turned head, through lines of hair. He looked shaken. Poor Demetri, he had still to learn that to live, you must die. I took his hand and squeezed it. Then I led him out of the circle of my mourning family. We went straight home.
"His face was so white," Demetri's forehead was wrinkled in childish confusion, "It was like a sheet, or a dove, or something." He buried his eyes in his palm.
"I know, I know," I comforted. He shivered slightly at my touch. I knew it wasn't right, but I suddenly needed to kiss him. I took his chin in my fingertips and slowly turned his face to me. His hand dropped, and his eyes glazed over in peaceful lust. My eyes closed and I moved slowly toward him. He didn't move. He wanted me to kiss him. My fingers groped forward as I leaned even nearer. I could feel his breath on my face. It smelled like cinnamon. I was inches from him, less than that. And then he whispered, " It was like snow." And my eyes fluttered open. My lashes nearly brushed his. His eyes were so scared. Suprised, I laughed. Sometimes, Demetri is perfect.