[She never thought about how many layers upon layers of cream cloth, and lace, and frills she wore, but his firm, insistent gesture at her stockings tells her it is all too much, especially from how unbearably flushed she is. She watches from beneath her lashes as he hastily rids himself of his own layers, the room feeling far too small and compact for them to be dressed with such overbearing formality.
As she watches how brazenly he reveals himself to her, it makes her feel all the more ridiculous for hesitating, fussing like a newlywed who has never had lessons in carnality. Her hands slipping beneath her skirt, her stockings are gently tugged to not ruin the delicate material, eased down from her hips to her ankles, finally discarded at her bare feet in a tangle of cloth.
But she barely has a moment to savor the freedom of exposing her legs, when he returns to press over her, feeling small in his shadow. Her new lover is hinting heavily to his desires, from the lift he gives her skirt, coming dangerously close to the junction of her thighs. She inhales sharply, both of her hands pressing over his, clasping over his wandering fingers to stop him from advancing any further.]
Ah—...
[She looks up to him, pleadingly, her lips opening and parting as if to speak. The dreamlike atmosphere they have between them is as brittle as the stutter in her voice, and she struggles to make herself coherent for him.]
—Darling, not there.
[The term of endearment slips out before she means it to, warm and intimate in her syrupy Southern drawl, growing more pronounced with the worse her nerves become. Her pale hands take his, trying to guide it back to the comfortable territory of her shoulders.]
no subject
As she watches how brazenly he reveals himself to her, it makes her feel all the more ridiculous for hesitating, fussing like a newlywed who has never had lessons in carnality. Her hands slipping beneath her skirt, her stockings are gently tugged to not ruin the delicate material, eased down from her hips to her ankles, finally discarded at her bare feet in a tangle of cloth.
But she barely has a moment to savor the freedom of exposing her legs, when he returns to press over her, feeling small in his shadow. Her new lover is hinting heavily to his desires, from the lift he gives her skirt, coming dangerously close to the junction of her thighs. She inhales sharply, both of her hands pressing over his, clasping over his wandering fingers to stop him from advancing any further.]
Ah—...
[She looks up to him, pleadingly, her lips opening and parting as if to speak. The dreamlike atmosphere they have between them is as brittle as the stutter in her voice, and she struggles to make herself coherent for him.]
—Darling, not there.
[The term of endearment slips out before she means it to, warm and intimate in her syrupy Southern drawl, growing more pronounced with the worse her nerves become. Her pale hands take his, trying to guide it back to the comfortable territory of her shoulders.]