[ There is no more thought to the wine (beyond a few seconds where she considers using it to create more trails along her skin for him to follow). His taste is intoxication enough, and she rolls her head along her shoulders in response to his wandering mouth, sighing elatedly with each new area that he finds and attends to. There's zero consideration for the marks he'll leave, no concern to be had for the implications: not tomorrow, and certainly not in the heat of this moment. In fact, she finds herself still wanting more, enamored of the idea that there would be evidence tomorrow that this had all been real and not just a particularly vivid dream. ]
Don't worry about being gentle. [ She murmurs, as if he'd been pressing chaste kisses to her hands and not ravaging the landscape of her neck. ] I'm not fragile.
[ His hand begins to roam and so does hers, firmly sliding along the muscle of his arms, taking in every detail as though this may be her only opportunity (and it may be, all things considered). Those wandering fingers find the back of his shirt and trace his spine, settling there for now as her attention returns to their hips and the evidence of his desire she feels there. Exhaling roughly, her teeth flashing in an amorous grin, she begins to shift against him, watching his reaction closely as she presses down and moves languidly back and forth. Their trousers do nothing to mask the heat, and she doesn't bother withholding what the sensation elicits from her: the sharp sucking of air between her teeth, a ragged exhale, a soft, needy "oh." ]
Whenever you're hungry. [ Comes the reply, spoken on a sigh. There are pink spots in her cheeks, helped along by the drink but owed to the contact. ] Just say the word.
no subject
Don't worry about being gentle. [ She murmurs, as if he'd been pressing chaste kisses to her hands and not ravaging the landscape of her neck. ] I'm not fragile.
[ His hand begins to roam and so does hers, firmly sliding along the muscle of his arms, taking in every detail as though this may be her only opportunity (and it may be, all things considered). Those wandering fingers find the back of his shirt and trace his spine, settling there for now as her attention returns to their hips and the evidence of his desire she feels there. Exhaling roughly, her teeth flashing in an amorous grin, she begins to shift against him, watching his reaction closely as she presses down and moves languidly back and forth. Their trousers do nothing to mask the heat, and she doesn't bother withholding what the sensation elicits from her: the sharp sucking of air between her teeth, a ragged exhale, a soft, needy "oh." ]
Whenever you're hungry. [ Comes the reply, spoken on a sigh. There are pink spots in her cheeks, helped along by the drink but owed to the contact. ] Just say the word.