Isla
Were it not for the effortlessly perfect room Ever had arranged and the thoughtful gestures present in every nook and cranny of it, perhaps Isla would have had more to say about the aviator's childhood antics. Alas, her mind is flooded with the touch of his hands and the warm press of his lips, and gods but it's all she can do not to jump into his arms and steer him towards the bed as he reaches back to click the door shut.
"I'm the one who would be grateful," she objects, brushing a thumb across his cheek before glancing towards the fire. "I would like that," she says, smiling, though it would be no effort for her to bring the fire to life herself, in truth. But while the aviator contents himself with making her evening more comfortable, Isla is able to slip out of her coat - and her dress - and to slip the nightgown over her head, before padding up next to him to see how it's going.
"I'm the one who would be grateful," she objects, brushing a thumb across his cheek before glancing towards the fire. "I would like that," she says, smiling, though it would be no effort for her to bring the fire to life herself, in truth. But while the aviator contents himself with making her evening more comfortable, Isla is able to slip out of her coat - and her dress - and to slip the nightgown over her head, before padding up next to him to see how it's going.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
