This is better. For all the fluttering fear that rose in her belly because of her own vulnerability, it is so much better to see how he squirms, to hear him uttering her name like a prayer, to watch how his expression twists. He's beautiful. She wants to kiss him, but wants to hear him more. So she lingers, impossibly close, letting the new wetness that stains the inside of her skirts cool.
As she sinks into him, she lifts her hands, slowly, to cradle his face. To savor this closeness. Then she buries her face against his sweat-slick neck, collapsing fully, sweat mingling. She strokes his arm, steady and slow, an assurance before she can muster words.
"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs finally, her voice still ragged with the dregs of feverish hunger as well as the fatigue of physical effort. There is a burn in her thighs that tells her this is enough for now, and she makes a happy if creaky little noise as she shifts her hips to stretch them out, shifting herself just to the side of him lest either of them have cause for lingering concern about the closeness of their bits.
Her breaths are heavy still, coming in tandem with his. She plants one hand on his chest so she can feel his ribs expand. The moment feels indulgent, luxurious. When has she ever had the opportunity to just linger like this, to hold and admire? She shifts her head back onto the other side of his pillow, lifts her gaze to search his face again, admires the sheen of sweat and the flush of his cheeks and the way his lips part to draw in more air.
Smiles, a little goofily, as she realizes that she can have this, if she wants it. He has offered it to her. And she already loves him a little for showing her what it could be like, could come to love him more, maybe.
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As she sinks into him, she lifts her hands, slowly, to cradle his face. To savor this closeness. Then she buries her face against his sweat-slick neck, collapsing fully, sweat mingling. She strokes his arm, steady and slow, an assurance before she can muster words.
"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs finally, her voice still ragged with the dregs of feverish hunger as well as the fatigue of physical effort. There is a burn in her thighs that tells her this is enough for now, and she makes a happy if creaky little noise as she shifts her hips to stretch them out, shifting herself just to the side of him lest either of them have cause for lingering concern about the closeness of their bits.
Her breaths are heavy still, coming in tandem with his. She plants one hand on his chest so she can feel his ribs expand. The moment feels indulgent, luxurious. When has she ever had the opportunity to just linger like this, to hold and admire? She shifts her head back onto the other side of his pillow, lifts her gaze to search his face again, admires the sheen of sweat and the flush of his cheeks and the way his lips part to draw in more air.
Smiles, a little goofily, as she realizes that she can have this, if she wants it. He has offered it to her. And she already loves him a little for showing her what it could be like, could come to love him more, maybe.