[He knows he shouldn't dwell on the topic of her bruise any longer, so he pulls away from it to focus on watching her instead, hoping that his gaze isn't too intense, that he's not making her feel uncomfortable from the way his eyes follow her every movement as she finally, finally removes the last of her clothes and is laid bare before him. To say that the sight of her takes his breath away would be undoubtedly cheesy and cliched, or at the very least, the mark of a true hopeless romantic, which he's not eager to reveal himself as, but it's true.
The fact that she doesn't strike a pose, that she doesn't do anything to try to make herself look glamorous -- as though she could possibly look any more glamorous -- is charming, to him. It bespeaks a certain innocence, maybe, or just a certain honesty that doesn't require any coquettish little poses or displays to be completely alluring. The genuineness in it matches the genuineness he's been trying to offer all night, and he likes that, is drawn in by it.
When he finally stops gazing at her, it's only to unbuckle his belt, to undo his pants, and he's absolutely certain that, as he lets them drop away, so he's standing before her in just his own underwear, she'll be looking at the scar on his thigh. The thought of her being horrified by it is too much to bear, so as soon as he's kicked his pants aside none too gracefully, he's back on the bed, pressed against her, practically lying on top of her, and this time, he's kissing her with very little hesitation. Why hesitate, now that she's completely naked and he's almost so, and he knows exactly where this is going?]
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The fact that she doesn't strike a pose, that she doesn't do anything to try to make herself look glamorous -- as though she could possibly look any more glamorous -- is charming, to him. It bespeaks a certain innocence, maybe, or just a certain honesty that doesn't require any coquettish little poses or displays to be completely alluring. The genuineness in it matches the genuineness he's been trying to offer all night, and he likes that, is drawn in by it.
When he finally stops gazing at her, it's only to unbuckle his belt, to undo his pants, and he's absolutely certain that, as he lets them drop away, so he's standing before her in just his own underwear, she'll be looking at the scar on his thigh. The thought of her being horrified by it is too much to bear, so as soon as he's kicked his pants aside none too gracefully, he's back on the bed, pressed against her, practically lying on top of her, and this time, he's kissing her with very little hesitation. Why hesitate, now that she's completely naked and he's almost so, and he knows exactly where this is going?]