( a sound hums up to greet him once his mouth claims hers in a demand of it's own โ something akin to a moan, but far lighter, a delighted tone no less, and she knows he can feel the staccato of her breaths as his palm peruses bare flesh, hyper aware of the callouses at the upper of his palm and the otherwise baby-soft plain of it's center. he toys with the eyelet lace at her chest, giving a graze against her breasts that's barely-there, and hidden pink buds harden attentively. maybe he's waiting for permission, to ask her, and while her mouth is busy she tries to let her figure speak for herโnails biting miniature crescents at his nape before carding up his skull, every inch of her curving closer to his palm as if to give it the confidence to be a bit more sure.
when his mouth makes a detour she's left trying to pick up the ragged pieces of her and breath he's left behind, eyes closing as she's pressing her temple to his, craning the pale, lean column of her neck to the side, golden strands falling back to give him roomโan open invitation. it was so easy to mark her, all fair and porcelain skin, and there's some savage thing fluttering alive in her chest that wants him to do just that, color her, mar her like a map of everywhere he's been. something to remember him by.
it's only when she's afforded a brief flicker of clarity that it dawns on her how single-sided his affections were, all favoring the right side of her; her neck, her ribs, her chest, that hip, and she swallows thickly as his mouth pursues her further. she's not dazed enough that she doesn't understand the implication behind it, but the last thing she wants is for him to withdraw, for her to try to breach something he wasn't ready for. she's tucking lips in on one another, keeping herself upright with his nape while nimble fingers find the hem of his outer-most layer. she gives a telling tug, testing the waters for any resistance, and she knows deep down it's the long-sleeved layer waiting for her next that daunted him.
for now, he works with her, arms lifting in accord and mouth breaking from her skin only when it's forced to. chocolate strands of his are left mussed, and she lets the fabric fall mindlessly off to the floor beside them. )
no subject
when his mouth makes a detour she's left trying to pick up the ragged pieces of her and breath he's left behind, eyes closing as she's pressing her temple to his, craning the pale, lean column of her neck to the side, golden strands falling back to give him roomโan open invitation. it was so easy to mark her, all fair and porcelain skin, and there's some savage thing fluttering alive in her chest that wants him to do just that, color her, mar her like a map of everywhere he's been. something to remember him by.
it's only when she's afforded a brief flicker of clarity that it dawns on her how single-sided his affections were, all favoring the right side of her; her neck, her ribs, her chest, that hip, and she swallows thickly as his mouth pursues her further. she's not dazed enough that she doesn't understand the implication behind it, but the last thing she wants is for him to withdraw, for her to try to breach something he wasn't ready for. she's tucking lips in on one another, keeping herself upright with his nape while nimble fingers find the hem of his outer-most layer. she gives a telling tug, testing the waters for any resistance, and she knows deep down it's the long-sleeved layer waiting for her next that daunted him.
for now, he works with her, arms lifting in accord and mouth breaking from her skin only when it's forced to. chocolate strands of his are left mussed, and she lets the fabric fall mindlessly off to the floor beside them. )