[ She waits with bated breath for that appraisal, supplicating him in her own silent way. Am I good enough? Tell me I'm enough, her stare seems to say, anticipatory and pleading. She's felt the indisputable evidence of his attraction to her already, hot and hard where he'd strained between her thighs, but his compliment — you're beautiful, spoken without any ulterior motives or insincere charm — seems to soothe an ache inside of her.
Overwhelmed, she relies on the squeeze of her fingers around his to communicate what she can't and twines them impossibly tighter. Her knuckles still tingle from where his lips have grazed their bony edges, romantic and sentimental, when they fall back against the blanket and drag his hand down with them. She would have expected to feel trapped, cornered, pinned into place by the gesture — but, with Ben, it isn't a thought that flits across her mind even once.
Maybe it should be startling just how comfortable she is with him, but that's a moment of self-reflection best saved for another time. Rather than fall into it, she falls into him, straining upward to return the soft press of his mouth. The muscles in her neck ache with the movement, but the suppleness of his mouth is worth the price of a crick in her neck, though she does have the foresight to unlace a hand and wind it into the silken strands at the back of his head to pull him down to the blanket with her.
Like this, she's attuned to every hard plane of muscle fitted against her, arching up insistently just to revel in the press of his body weighing her down to the floor. Her hands itch to touch, to delve beneath the front of his shirt and dip into the contours of his abdomen, but she should be congratulated on her self-control for resisting. Channeling her urge elsewhere, she settles for gingerly sliding her teeth across the pillow of his lower lip, teasing nips of her incisors that hint at her want for more. Torturous as it is, she intends to follow his lead, regardless — even if it means clamping her legs together to deter herself from coiling them around his hips. ]
wow i feel bullied just like horatio
Overwhelmed, she relies on the squeeze of her fingers around his to communicate what she can't and twines them impossibly tighter. Her knuckles still tingle from where his lips have grazed their bony edges, romantic and sentimental, when they fall back against the blanket and drag his hand down with them. She would have expected to feel trapped, cornered, pinned into place by the gesture — but, with Ben, it isn't a thought that flits across her mind even once.
Maybe it should be startling just how comfortable she is with him, but that's a moment of self-reflection best saved for another time. Rather than fall into it, she falls into him, straining upward to return the soft press of his mouth. The muscles in her neck ache with the movement, but the suppleness of his mouth is worth the price of a crick in her neck, though she does have the foresight to unlace a hand and wind it into the silken strands at the back of his head to pull him down to the blanket with her.
Like this, she's attuned to every hard plane of muscle fitted against her, arching up insistently just to revel in the press of his body weighing her down to the floor. Her hands itch to touch, to delve beneath the front of his shirt and dip into the contours of his abdomen, but she should be congratulated on her self-control for resisting. Channeling her urge elsewhere, she settles for gingerly sliding her teeth across the pillow of his lower lip, teasing nips of her incisors that hint at her want for more. Torturous as it is, she intends to follow his lead, regardless — even if it means clamping her legs together to deter herself from coiling them around his hips. ]