the pause between breathing

Ordinarily Isla would stop and correct him at this point - she's no good girl, she's the doctor who sawed his arm off and she'll damned well do it again - but there's far too much going on. Overcome by the feel of this, by all of him, there's little she can do but hold on, drowning in baby blues that hold a darkness in them that still surprises her when it appears. "Cal," she moans out, about to say something more when he surges forward, their lips crashing together in a bruising kiss that threatens to draw blood. Both arms are free now to wind around him, holding him close as they ride through his orgasm together, and by the time their lips part - when that eventually does happen - Isla is already leaning in to kiss the scruff on his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, his forehead. "Bed," she whispers, nodding somewhere down the corridor that they absoluely never made it beyond. "Let's go to bed. I still need to figure out how to get you out of this." This being the layers of skin tight leather, of course. Isla the flesh is weak