[ She may not consciously recognize the fear. But Hei catches it in her body, her voice, as if she's willing a sense of flight to settle. For a minute he thinks she's worried he'll drop her. But -- no. It's something else, fleeting and vivid, a brushstroke of sense-memory. He knows better than to ask. He's never been Mr. Words; sometimes a tactile reassurance and a mutual agreement to pretend Nothing's Wrong is best. ]
[ The only light here is from the lamp adjacent to the couch. He watches her in chiaroscuro -- a yellowish glow and long dark shadows. Some women look good dressed up. But she definitely looks better undressed, all wild hair and love bites and reddened cheeks, camouflaging artwork in jeans and T-shirts. The twitchiness, the simmer in her body, are palpable. The tilt of her hips all but telegraphs her plea. ]
[ Too bad pleas seldom work on him. ]
[ Slowly, he skims his palms up her legs, parting them, fingers ghosting along the sensitive insides. Dips his mouth to explore her navel, and the smooth arch of each hipbone. Tongue tracing along the crease of her thighs, before he presses his humid mouth between them, against that strip of fabric. He teases her, scraping his teeth lightly along the material, tracing the panel over her clit with his tongue. Her skin through the thin cotton is hot. His warm breath traps a wilder heat there, a burgeoning dampness -- but doesn't grant her the relief of real contact. ]
⊕ action
[ The only light here is from the lamp adjacent to the couch. He watches her in chiaroscuro -- a yellowish glow and long dark shadows. Some women look good dressed up. But she definitely looks better undressed, all wild hair and love bites and reddened cheeks, camouflaging artwork in jeans and T-shirts. The twitchiness, the simmer in her body, are palpable. The tilt of her hips all but telegraphs her plea. ]
[ Too bad pleas seldom work on him. ]
[ Slowly, he skims his palms up her legs, parting them, fingers ghosting along the sensitive insides. Dips his mouth to explore her navel, and the smooth arch of each hipbone. Tongue tracing along the crease of her thighs, before he presses his humid mouth between them, against that strip of fabric. He teases her, scraping his teeth lightly along the material, tracing the panel over her clit with his tongue. Her skin through the thin cotton is hot. His warm breath traps a wilder heat there, a burgeoning dampness -- but doesn't grant her the relief of real contact. ]