[Had that nearly been a declaration of love? He thinks it might have been, but then, it had been all swept up in the other noises she'd been making, and maybe that's not what it had been intended to be at all, maybe he'd just been hearing it wrong, hearing what he might have wanted to hear -- because, yes, he can admit to himself that that's the sort of thing that would make him feel very good indeed, even if he weren't quite sure he could return those feelings yet.
But with their fingers twined together and with the way she's gasping and with the way she feels, he's almost certain that that love could grow, and quickly. Is it dangerous? He's almost certain it is. And yet, he's never been known for thinking with his head when it comes to matters of the heart, and as he runs his free hand down her body again, slowly, searchingly, feeling every single one of those curves, wanting to trace over every inch of skin, he's absolutely not applying logic to any of this.
All he knows is that he feels good, that she feels good, that he doesn't want to stop, that it feels like, if not love, a pretty good imitation of it.]
Daisy...
[There might be something else there, too, something he'd say in return, maybe even something loving, but he just can't manage to get the words together, not when he's so busy concentrating on keeping a steady rhythm, not when he can feel the way her nails are digging into his hand. He wants to make this perfect for her, wants to make it memorable, wants to give her everything he possibly can, and that's the only thing his brain can possibly concentrate on. The question of feelings can come later.]
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But with their fingers twined together and with the way she's gasping and with the way she feels, he's almost certain that that love could grow, and quickly. Is it dangerous? He's almost certain it is. And yet, he's never been known for thinking with his head when it comes to matters of the heart, and as he runs his free hand down her body again, slowly, searchingly, feeling every single one of those curves, wanting to trace over every inch of skin, he's absolutely not applying logic to any of this.
All he knows is that he feels good, that she feels good, that he doesn't want to stop, that it feels like, if not love, a pretty good imitation of it.]
Daisy...
[There might be something else there, too, something he'd say in return, maybe even something loving, but he just can't manage to get the words together, not when he's so busy concentrating on keeping a steady rhythm, not when he can feel the way her nails are digging into his hand. He wants to make this perfect for her, wants to make it memorable, wants to give her everything he possibly can, and that's the only thing his brain can possibly concentrate on. The question of feelings can come later.]