Evie
tell me all of the things
that make you feel at ease
She wonders if it is the urge of man or beast that has him turning subtly into her fingertips, pressing and searching blindly like how a cat might arch its spine into your hand or a canine might press their muzzle against your idle hand. Not unlike the way she follows him like a flower does the sun - it merely reminds her of the power and intrigue that lies within, deeper than the skin she caresses. It is a request she expected to inspire reticence, doubt, and she is prepared for the time it takes him to mull and ponder as he automatically refutes the notion of being spoiled and pampered. When he hands over his consent, it is perceived as both the gift and burden of trust that it truly is. Smiling at the underlying goad and setting a mental countdown for herself, Evie lowers herself closer until she can kiss him - light, but slow. “Patience, love,” she murmurs, aware he may not heed it.
Not to be rushed despite the assurance of little time, Evie sets about undressing him. Rucking up his shirt and letting him decide if he would remove it entirely himself, she kisses slowly across as much of his torso as she can. Slow, meandering, occasionally laving her tongue against sensitive spots as she maneuvers her way down. There is no teasing or torturing (as there has been in the past) when she reaches his hips and the waistband of his pants. Her hands smooth up his sides to trace his ribs, up his sternum, and down the insides of his arms until her fingers can trace and massage into the lines of his palm. Simultaneously worshipping, memorizing, enticing, and relaxing him.
But alas, hands are necessary if she is going to continue. Pausing, she kisses across one hip as she works blindly to begin removing his pants, allowing any assistance he provides.
