Wintergreen's hand on my hip, agreement and reassurance, before he moves. I do not look at him, caught in Slade's mouth, though I agree: there are too many articles of clothing in this bed.
Slade pulls his head back, another lick to my lip before his hand moves under my shirt, resting over my ribs. Two questions in his voice, I know. My comfort with this, with someone else's presence, doubtless confuses him. I have never told Slade about the more... adventuresome... aspects of my youth.
It is so easy to smile at him, feeling the burn of my skin where his beard scraped, slipping back to the woman I was years ago. Easy, too, to move back enough to slip my shirt off, my bra, and rest two fingers on Slade's mouth. "I believe it is your turn?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-06-27 12:42 am (UTC)Slade pulls his head back, another lick to my lip before his hand moves under my shirt, resting over my ribs. Two questions in his voice, I know. My comfort with this, with someone else's presence, doubtless confuses him. I have never told Slade about the more... adventuresome... aspects of my youth.
It is so easy to smile at him, feeling the burn of my skin where his beard scraped, slipping back to the woman I was years ago. Easy, too, to move back enough to slip my shirt off, my bra, and rest two fingers on Slade's mouth. "I believe it is your turn?"