Ever tips his head, lips quirking at the wisdom of Isla’s answer. "Very prudent," he murmurs, the sound a quiet hum against her teasing. Her mockery of his afternoon earns a soft chuckle and a small, helpless shrug of his shoulders. "The paperwork is finished. Which means my evening is entirely free." His tone suggests—without flourish—that the only thing he intends to fill it with is her.
He means to head for the kitchen, already calculating what small snack might pair best with wine and a warm bath, when fabric drifts into the hall. First the blouse, then the bra. He stops. Blinks once. Twice. His mind parses the action with absolute clarity: intentional. Deliberate. An invitation.
The kitchen is forgotten. He turns immediately, quiet footfalls carrying him into the bedroom, and then to her. Isla will likely feel him before she sees him—; his lips pressing reverently to the slope of her shoulder, the faint exhale of his breath at her skin, and his hands bracketing her waist, large and careful yet carrying a heat that betrays his need. "There’s...a bit of an obstacle course, getting into the bath," he whispers, almost apologetic, as his lips glide down toward the point of her shoulder. She’ll know what he means: he couldn’t stop himself from shaping little barriers along the tiles, a subconscious attempt to still the water’s flow as the tub filled. "But—" his grip firms, voice dropping lower, steadier, "I'd be happy to make sure you get in safely." Even so, one of Ever's hands will drop to the top of her skirt, his thumb brushing beneath the fabric before moving seamlessly toward her hip in order to tug gently on the zipper.
He means to head for the kitchen, already calculating what small snack might pair best with wine and a warm bath, when fabric drifts into the hall. First the blouse, then the bra. He stops. Blinks once. Twice. His mind parses the action with absolute clarity: intentional. Deliberate. An invitation.
The kitchen is forgotten. He turns immediately, quiet footfalls carrying him into the bedroom, and then to her. Isla will likely feel him before she sees him—; his lips pressing reverently to the slope of her shoulder, the faint exhale of his breath at her skin, and his hands bracketing her waist, large and careful yet carrying a heat that betrays his need. "There’s...a bit of an obstacle course, getting into the bath," he whispers, almost apologetic, as his lips glide down toward the point of her shoulder. She’ll know what he means: he couldn’t stop himself from shaping little barriers along the tiles, a subconscious attempt to still the water’s flow as the tub filled. "But—" his grip firms, voice dropping lower, steadier, "I'd be happy to make sure you get in safely." Even so, one of Ever's hands will drop to the top of her skirt, his thumb brushing beneath the fabric before moving seamlessly toward her hip in order to tug gently on the zipper.
I will not be brave
but i'm grateful to get through
but i'm grateful to get through
