in these trying times we're not trying

Maeve

She's transfixed. The first flutter of his lashes has her waiting with bated breath, a sudden nervousness forming in her belly. What if he doesn't like what he feels? Would it matter? They're her feelings. It's not like she can tailor them to suit him. Maeve lets out the breath, instead focusing on the way he loses himself in what he's feeling. She wants to ask if he enjoys it. If there is a rush that comes with it, but she stays quiet, letting him sort through what he's feeling in peace.

Only when his eyes open again and his fingers finally find the satin sash that keeps her robe closed does she open her mouth to speak. Except instead of words, comes a laugh. Bright and bubbly as a hand comes up to cover her mouth to silence the sound. Too late. There is a rustling on the other side, feet hitting the floor, and then a voice calling out to her. "I'll see you later, Mae." The door opens and closes with a soft click. She drops her forehead to his chest, trying to contain her giggles.

"Guess you don't have to worry about that part anymore." Maeve finally manages, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out quickly to banish the last of her laughter. "Alright, love, enough stalling. Are you going to undress me or not?" She arches a brow at him, an easy smile settling on her lips as her fingers find his skin again, curling into the waistband of his pants.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending