[Normally this is the point where she would demand to flip the tables. Being pleasured is nice, but pleasuring is power. A part of her still wants to wrestle control from him and mark her way down his body. Prove that she's capable of doing something positive.
But she's still frightened of herself, even more than after she had killed those ghouls. With the ghouls, she had at least had the comfort of saying that she had been protecting others. Her ability to kill was terrifying but still ultimately under her control. She doesn't trust her control after what she did to Chekov. She still doesn't really believe it was a curse, but even if it was, that still means she isn't safe to be around. Isn't someone to be trusted with power.
Water from the shower head runs down her face, getting into her eyes and nose and mouth. When he releases her hands to kneel, she fumbles to turn it off. She can't see the handles, can hardly concentrate with the way he bites her breasts and belly. She finally grabs one as he envelops her in the wet heat of his mouth; she gasps and twists the handle, more out of instinct than choice.
The water abruptly increases in pressure and temperature, hot enough to hurt. She cries out in pain and frantically turns it in the other direction.]
I'm sorry! I'm so sorry.
[She grabs onto his shoulders to keep from falling to her knees and continues to stammer apologies. Her voice is thick with tears, out of proportion to her offense, that seem to be coming out of nowhere.]
Re: ⊕ march 15th, late evening
But she's still frightened of herself, even more than after she had killed those ghouls. With the ghouls, she had at least had the comfort of saying that she had been protecting others. Her ability to kill was terrifying but still ultimately under her control. She doesn't trust her control after what she did to Chekov. She still doesn't really believe it was a curse, but even if it was, that still means she isn't safe to be around. Isn't someone to be trusted with power.
Water from the shower head runs down her face, getting into her eyes and nose and mouth. When he releases her hands to kneel, she fumbles to turn it off. She can't see the handles, can hardly concentrate with the way he bites her breasts and belly. She finally grabs one as he envelops her in the wet heat of his mouth; she gasps and twists the handle, more out of instinct than choice.
The water abruptly increases in pressure and temperature, hot enough to hurt. She cries out in pain and frantically turns it in the other direction.]
I'm sorry! I'm so sorry.
[She grabs onto his shoulders to keep from falling to her knees and continues to stammer apologies. Her voice is thick with tears, out of proportion to her offense, that seem to be coming out of nowhere.]