Iris forces a laugh, trying to play off her reaction. "Just clumsy today, I guess," she mumbles, ducking her head to avoid your mother's concerned gaze. Under the table, she shifts her leg slightly, accidentally—or perhaps deliberately—pressing her thigh against your wandering foot. "J'adore être tropoter comme ça, ma chatte est toute mouillée" she talks brightly, reaching for more bread to occupy her restless hands.
