[ he aims to undo her. it's far from the first time but, recently, she has to fight off the looming disquiet that any time could be the last time. rip's mouth is a heated reminder that she's got fewer and fewer reasons to keep playing coy. each bite and every suck sparks a sublime tension through her body -- climbing from the pit of her stomach to her up-stretched arms. and all despite the dulling barrier of her bra between his mouth and his skin. he's right to put the onus on her; already, she wants to feel him as best she can. but a tug on their joined hands does nothing beyond reinforcing the anchored keep they both share. firm, tight, keeping each other anchored.
but she's got plenty of reasons, still, to challenge him. to make him -- make both of them -- work for every moan and sigh. ever since their first night together, when she got her first hint of how much he was eager to give, they've spent their time together mapping this would-be relationship with hands and mouths and noises. does he want a victory? a reaffirmation? a renewal of unspoken vows? she would happily give him all three. but, still, she needs to challenge him. he says he means to savour -- and surrendering so soon, so easily, steals that opportunity away from both of them. peggy dares to think that her challenge is exactly what he needs -- only mitigated, moderated, and offered up without the same spirited tactics that would normally see her wrestling him onto his back with her triumphant above him. he's asking her to run a marathon, not tap out.
she won't hold pleasure tight to her chest like a poker hand saved for the last possible moment; her cards were laid on the table back when the event overcame her discretion. the song's notes and rhythms linger still in the back of her head -- the memory of the music adds to her high, rescued from a dreary association made while she'd listened to it in his absence. her teeth dent her bottom lip but do very little to quell the sound she makes (soft, fond, unspooling) when he tugs her hands down like tethers shifted to give him slack. give him more opportunity to erode away her self-control.
so she grips his hands. peggy's thighs part without prompting, yes, but the motion is an invitation. not yet a plea. she has to trust that, yes, he'll have her begging before long. her duty is to (avidly; gladly; excitedly) revel in his build-up -- body bowing up, and a sharp breath causing her stomach to cave. she wants to tangle her fingers in his hair but clinging to him, telegraphing the tightening of her nerves with a squeeze on his fingers, isn't such a terrible alternative.
how he manages his patience, now, she'll never know. she may have gone some seven years without such depth of intimacy before, but now peggy knows going more than a week without him is a particular kind of misery.
she writhes. she enjoys the scrape of his beard against the skin of her thigh. and, in a tight breathless voice, she tells him the truth: ] I never stopped craving you.
[ not since they first crashed together. not while he'd been gone. and certainly not since his return. although she'd waited for a moment link this one ever since, it'd been nearly too much for her patience to bear. a price to pay for diverting them both the day he came back to her. for talking instead of doing. ]
But that doesn't make you any less -- [ what's the word for it? she gropes for it, driven to distraction and aggravation and delight all at once with the potential of his tongue hiding over silk knickers. ] Frustrating.
no subject
but she's got plenty of reasons, still, to challenge him. to make him -- make both of them -- work for every moan and sigh. ever since their first night together, when she got her first hint of how much he was eager to give, they've spent their time together mapping this would-be relationship with hands and mouths and noises. does he want a victory? a reaffirmation? a renewal of unspoken vows? she would happily give him all three. but, still, she needs to challenge him. he says he means to savour -- and surrendering so soon, so easily, steals that opportunity away from both of them. peggy dares to think that her challenge is exactly what he needs -- only mitigated, moderated, and offered up without the same spirited tactics that would normally see her wrestling him onto his back with her triumphant above him. he's asking her to run a marathon, not tap out.
she won't hold pleasure tight to her chest like a poker hand saved for the last possible moment; her cards were laid on the table back when the event overcame her discretion. the song's notes and rhythms linger still in the back of her head -- the memory of the music adds to her high, rescued from a dreary association made while she'd listened to it in his absence. her teeth dent her bottom lip but do very little to quell the sound she makes (soft, fond, unspooling) when he tugs her hands down like tethers shifted to give him slack. give him more opportunity to erode away her self-control.
so she grips his hands. peggy's thighs part without prompting, yes, but the motion is an invitation. not yet a plea. she has to trust that, yes, he'll have her begging before long. her duty is to (avidly; gladly; excitedly) revel in his build-up -- body bowing up, and a sharp breath causing her stomach to cave. she wants to tangle her fingers in his hair but clinging to him, telegraphing the tightening of her nerves with a squeeze on his fingers, isn't such a terrible alternative.
how he manages his patience, now, she'll never know. she may have gone some seven years without such depth of intimacy before, but now peggy knows going more than a week without him is a particular kind of misery.
she writhes. she enjoys the scrape of his beard against the skin of her thigh. and, in a tight breathless voice, she tells him the truth: ] I never stopped craving you.
[ not since they first crashed together. not while he'd been gone. and certainly not since his return. although she'd waited for a moment link this one ever since, it'd been nearly too much for her patience to bear. a price to pay for diverting them both the day he came back to her. for talking instead of doing. ]
But that doesn't make you any less -- [ what's the word for it? she gropes for it, driven to distraction and aggravation and delight all at once with the potential of his tongue hiding over silk knickers. ] Frustrating.
[ it's said with
loveaffection. ]