Ever exhales a laugh against Isla's cheek, lips curved into a crooked smile. "Then what a fool I am," he murmurs, the warmth of his breath brushing her skin just before he’s kissed again. Isla’s deft fingers slip one button, then another, until the line of his shirt is nothing but invitation, and though some part of his mind ticks faintly at the thought of creases, the larger part is already consumed by the urgency of her touch and the pull of her mouth.
As she urges him back step by step, he bends into her without breaking the kiss, his hands gliding over the elegant sweep of her hips, down the length of her thighs. Strong fingers find their way beneath her, palms bracketing the soft curve of her ass, and with a low murmur—"More efficient this way," though they both know better—he lifts her effortlessly, the fabric of his trousers tenting hard and unhidden against her.
The bedroom greets them in stuttered backward steps until the backs of his legs meet the mattress. He lowers with care but not hesitation, Isla still in his arms, until he’s seated with her flush against him. His shirt slips down his shoulders in a slow shrug, forgotten in the spill of heat between them, his broad chest finally bared to her roaming hands. Whatever habits might have otherwise inclined him to fold his shirt as he shrugged it off, are smothered beneath the weight of Isla’s body and the kind of contact that leaves no space for second thoughts.
As she urges him back step by step, he bends into her without breaking the kiss, his hands gliding over the elegant sweep of her hips, down the length of her thighs. Strong fingers find their way beneath her, palms bracketing the soft curve of her ass, and with a low murmur—"More efficient this way," though they both know better—he lifts her effortlessly, the fabric of his trousers tenting hard and unhidden against her.
The bedroom greets them in stuttered backward steps until the backs of his legs meet the mattress. He lowers with care but not hesitation, Isla still in his arms, until he’s seated with her flush against him. His shirt slips down his shoulders in a slow shrug, forgotten in the spill of heat between them, his broad chest finally bared to her roaming hands. Whatever habits might have otherwise inclined him to fold his shirt as he shrugged it off, are smothered beneath the weight of Isla’s body and the kind of contact that leaves no space for second thoughts.
I will not be brave
but i'm grateful to get through
but i'm grateful to get through
