[ It's a vivid picture. The details are wrong. In part because it's his image, and she is not herself in it, but him. Broad shoulders and lumbering over her own form, which is too filled out in some places and too thin in others.
Her eyes are wide, her lips parted and wet and her breath heavy as she stares up at him, hungering for more of it as he snatches it away. The hand in hers tells her that his fingers are bigger than hers, will better satisfy. The picture he paints tells her that he knows his way around her body despite his professed lack of experience. ]
Good.
[ Her voice is a rasp, scratching over her throat. Thick with desire. She wants it. The slick of her arousal sticks to her thighs, pooling out of her. It's never been so overwhelming, so distracting. Her fingers twitch in his, ready to succumb to the desire to pull him closer, to —
She lets go instead. Of his hand. Of one side of her sheet.
It exposes her body to him, tanned and freckled and smooth, but for the hair that blankets her legs and forms a patch that makes an imitation of modesty by obscuring the apex of her thighs like it's just some shadowed area. The rosy peaks of her nipples have hardened — from cold or from arousal, it's not quite clear. She would have to take a guess, herself.
She doesn't linger. She pulls the sheet over one arm and brushes past him towards the crew quarters, heading inside, as she had promised. Either to clothe herself again or to take care of the problem he has created for her — unclear which, just now. ]
you asked for this
Her eyes are wide, her lips parted and wet and her breath heavy as she stares up at him, hungering for more of it as he snatches it away. The hand in hers tells her that his fingers are bigger than hers, will better satisfy. The picture he paints tells her that he knows his way around her body despite his professed lack of experience. ]
Good.
[ Her voice is a rasp, scratching over her throat. Thick with desire. She wants it. The slick of her arousal sticks to her thighs, pooling out of her. It's never been so overwhelming, so distracting. Her fingers twitch in his, ready to succumb to the desire to pull him closer, to —
She lets go instead. Of his hand. Of one side of her sheet.
It exposes her body to him, tanned and freckled and smooth, but for the hair that blankets her legs and forms a patch that makes an imitation of modesty by obscuring the apex of her thighs like it's just some shadowed area. The rosy peaks of her nipples have hardened — from cold or from arousal, it's not quite clear. She would have to take a guess, herself.
She doesn't linger. She pulls the sheet over one arm and brushes past him towards the crew quarters, heading inside, as she had promised. Either to clothe herself again or to take care of the problem he has created for her — unclear which, just now. ]