[She can hardly reply to his compliment when he claims her mouth once again, but she appreciates it all the same, surrendering to the tame and tender kiss. She fumbles for his unoccupied hand, and when she finds it, laces their fingers together—as if doing anything, everything she can to make it more meaningful, more passionate. She has been anticipating his touch, but still gives a kittenish cry of startled pleasure when one heavy hand wanders over modest curves and her petite build, feeling the heat of long fingers trailing over her clothed outline one by one. Another tremor shudders through her, but it has little to do with grief, only the low burn of a physical ache—feeling it the same as him, at last.
She had seen how he had discarded of his tie, and her free hand reaches out, almost wonderingly, to touch the dark buttons at the front of his crisp suit. Just then, the shivering tips of her fingers falter, abandoning the bold task of unbuttoning his collar for him, suddenly seized with an incommunicable sense of shame, as if this is her first lover, her first time being taken to bed.
Unable to help him undress, too overtaken by her own timid reservations, she is tempted to lose her nerve entirely, to continue on with another series of sugary kisses. But perhaps it is the champagne and the cigarettes urging her on, pulling back to catch her breath, and the hand which gracelessly lost in its attempt to disrobe him instead drifts down to her own clothing. The sleeves of flimsy, gauzy silk give no resistance when she slips them down, revealing the delicate frame of her shoulders, her exposed collarbone. Her dress is not so far down that she is entirely exposed, her modesty hidden by the opaque pattern of lace daisies.]
no subject
She had seen how he had discarded of his tie, and her free hand reaches out, almost wonderingly, to touch the dark buttons at the front of his crisp suit. Just then, the shivering tips of her fingers falter, abandoning the bold task of unbuttoning his collar for him, suddenly seized with an incommunicable sense of shame, as if this is her first lover, her first time being taken to bed.
Unable to help him undress, too overtaken by her own timid reservations, she is tempted to lose her nerve entirely, to continue on with another series of sugary kisses. But perhaps it is the champagne and the cigarettes urging her on, pulling back to catch her breath, and the hand which gracelessly lost in its attempt to disrobe him instead drifts down to her own clothing. The sleeves of flimsy, gauzy silk give no resistance when she slips them down, revealing the delicate frame of her shoulders, her exposed collarbone. Her dress is not so far down that she is entirely exposed, her modesty hidden by the opaque pattern of lace daisies.]