Some part of her brain jumps out of the sensation of him as he pushes at the fabric of her shirt. She can’t help it, the uncertainty of what happens when he finds the scar. Not that she doesn’t show anyone, not that she’s afraid to tell the story, but in moments like these when someone isn’t expecting it to be there...it always makes her strangely tense. There’s no reason, but it does anyway.
Still, she does enjoy the feel of him, of his lips exploring her skin. She arches back slightly, allowing and inviting him. She continues her own explorations with her hands, one hand finding its way into his hair again, fingers slipping over his ear to play gently with the lobe before curling back into his hair, tangling at the base of his neck, nails tracing slightly against the skin.
Still, she does enjoy the feel of him, of his lips exploring her skin. She arches back slightly, allowing and inviting him. She continues her own explorations with her hands, one hand finding its way into his hair again, fingers slipping over his ear to play gently with the lobe before curling back into his hair, tangling at the base of his neck, nails tracing slightly against the skin.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
