in these trying times we're not trying

Maeve

He doesn't commit his touch anywhere. Everything is a whisper. A tease across her skin that makes her squirm and her nerves strain for the sensation he denies her. It's the most beautiful kind of torture. To be so close to something and so far all at once. Maeve arches into his touch, silently urging him to take more. To do more, He instead tucks his face into her neck, lips dancing over her skin as a growl suddenly rumbles through him. She shivers despite herself, looping an arm around his neck as she turns to press an apologetic kiss to his temple, "And he's gone now, isn't he? Relax..." Maeve croons, fingers slipping into his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp as the hand between them continues its lazy stroking.

Remi takes her encouragement and lifts them both easily from the water. She misses the heat instantly, the cool air of the room nipping at her wet skin as her legs wrap around his waist again. "The floor it is." Maeve almost mentions the clean blankets in the wardrobe, thinking he might want a softer surface to lay upon, but she's distracted momentarily by his arms around her slim form. He holds her tightly to him and she couldn't get away even if she wanted to. Which, she absolutely doesn't want to.

Her head clears for a moment, even as her lips trail across his jaw and she finally finds her words, "Blankets are in the wardrobe... Might be preferable to the wood floor." At least for her. While he might like it, she's not interested in getting splinters in her skin and would prefer to be fucked while on something relatively comfortable.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending