[There's a part of her still thinking about the hair clipper. There's a part of her thinking about her neighbors and the locks on her door. She's too splintered and raw to quiet inside and probably won't settle until she's slept, so she imposes her peace over passion and forces the surface smooth. Holds them both in time.
One hand cards through his hair and the other moves down to trace his face again, the subtle signs of age, the skin she can reach above the collar of his clothes. His arms around her are solid enough that she can push back against them and press forward against him at the same time and savour being surrounded.
She sucks on his tongue gently, breathes through her nose, lets the way he feels when he's all but thrumming with wanting her to pass through her body, to heat her core. If he's going to let her set the pace - and that's how it seems between the way he opened for her and the noises he's barely making - then she's going to make him wait for everything. She's going to drag out every step. If he'll let her. If she can.]
no subject
One hand cards through his hair and the other moves down to trace his face again, the subtle signs of age, the skin she can reach above the collar of his clothes. His arms around her are solid enough that she can push back against them and press forward against him at the same time and savour being surrounded.
She sucks on his tongue gently, breathes through her nose, lets the way he feels when he's all but thrumming with wanting her to pass through her body, to heat her core. If he's going to let her set the pace - and that's how it seems between the way he opened for her and the noises he's barely making - then she's going to make him wait for everything. She's going to drag out every step. If he'll let her. If she can.]