[She gives a little feeble shake of her head, refusing his apology. After all, it wasn't him who hurt her, who ought to be apologizing and asking for forgiveness. She is expecting him to allow the morbid topic to be quietly laid aside, to instead pursue other alluring, and unmarred, curves. But he does the very opposite, bewilderment seizing her when he bends low, giving way to an odd sort of gratitude when he presses his lips to the dark wound, as if it would heal from his innocent touch alone.
She is relieved when he seems satisfied with that act of kindness alone, deciding not to pursue it any further. Rather, there is something just as bittersweet they must address. She breathes out slowly, gathering the final vestiges of courage she can manage, her long fingers curling beneath the lace edging of her final article of unmentionables, and pulling them down with no small amount of prudent shame. The moment passes without speaking, her motions quick and desperate to finish undressing—until at last, the inevitable conclusion has been reached.
Fully revealed, she must appear distinctly petite and delicate beneath him, pale and smooth expect for the tender bruising. In certain places there may be beauty marks here and there, or patches of pink where she is the most easily agitated, her cheeks warm with a rosy blush. Laid out like a gift, she pauses for just a little longer, hesitating with what to do with her pose, or how he would like her to be presented. Ultimately, she doesn't do anything at all, not raising her arms nor bringing up her knees, unlike how the glamorous stars of the moving pictures do, or the heroines in love stories.
Because she wants this to feel genuine. More than anything, if there is one wish she can have granted tonight, she just wants to feel loved, in all her entirety.]
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She is relieved when he seems satisfied with that act of kindness alone, deciding not to pursue it any further. Rather, there is something just as bittersweet they must address. She breathes out slowly, gathering the final vestiges of courage she can manage, her long fingers curling beneath the lace edging of her final article of unmentionables, and pulling them down with no small amount of prudent shame. The moment passes without speaking, her motions quick and desperate to finish undressing—until at last, the inevitable conclusion has been reached.
Fully revealed, she must appear distinctly petite and delicate beneath him, pale and smooth expect for the tender bruising. In certain places there may be beauty marks here and there, or patches of pink where she is the most easily agitated, her cheeks warm with a rosy blush. Laid out like a gift, she pauses for just a little longer, hesitating with what to do with her pose, or how he would like her to be presented. Ultimately, she doesn't do anything at all, not raising her arms nor bringing up her knees, unlike how the glamorous stars of the moving pictures do, or the heroines in love stories.
Because she wants this to feel genuine. More than anything, if there is one wish she can have granted tonight, she just wants to feel loved, in all her entirety.]