[She isn't visible for the time being, and so she won't make the mistake of urging him ever more frantically. He isn't doing anything that will earn a scream, not yet, and so she allows the way he moves her. His hands groping and touching feels sinfully good, a heated pressure that she arches into and squirms against hungrily, hips rocking. She exhales shakily as he spreads her open, her head ducking for just a moment to brush against his neck. It's everything and nothing all at once: the barest of reactions, and yet a point in his direction, a small acknowledgement that he's affected her.
She'd expected him to strip her. She had not expected him to tear her clothes even further, but it's over in an instant, a rough tear and then lace in tatters around her ankles, so fast she can't be bothered to complain about it. He shoves her back, his eyes greedy and slow as they stare, and she fights the urge to shift her weight or pull him close.
It's not that she's embarrassed. But no matter how much confidence she has, it's still unnerving to have someone do nothing but look at you, intimate and unflinching. She pants softly, ribs rising and falling beneath his hands, and watches his expression for a long moment.
She knows she's an attractive sight. Wide hips and a pleasantly slender frame, her skin pale in the darkness. She isn't yet so wet she's humiliating herself with it, but it's undeniable he's had an effect on her.
Soon her own gaze flits down, drinking him in. Noting the jut of muscle and what scars there might be; how he's already half-hard, as hungry for her as she is him. How he looks without his clothes, his bearing somehow unaffected despite the inherent indignity.]
Well?
[She looks straight at him, and it's pronounced with a clear air of challenge.]
no subject
She'd expected him to strip her. She had not expected him to tear her clothes even further, but it's over in an instant, a rough tear and then lace in tatters around her ankles, so fast she can't be bothered to complain about it. He shoves her back, his eyes greedy and slow as they stare, and she fights the urge to shift her weight or pull him close.
It's not that she's embarrassed. But no matter how much confidence she has, it's still unnerving to have someone do nothing but look at you, intimate and unflinching. She pants softly, ribs rising and falling beneath his hands, and watches his expression for a long moment.
She knows she's an attractive sight. Wide hips and a pleasantly slender frame, her skin pale in the darkness. She isn't yet so wet she's humiliating herself with it, but it's undeniable he's had an effect on her.
Soon her own gaze flits down, drinking him in. Noting the jut of muscle and what scars there might be; how he's already half-hard, as hungry for her as she is him. How he looks without his clothes, his bearing somehow unaffected despite the inherent indignity.]
Well?
[She looks straight at him, and it's pronounced with a clear air of challenge.]