Re: Later that evening
His back, like his chest, bears the scars of many lifetimes worth of hard training, an intricate network that he usually is careful to keep hidden, all open to exploration by her fingertips.
He never breaks the kiss, incresing the pressure just slightly while his fingers move with agonizing slowness, his mind conflicted between savoring her, and every second with her, and appreciating every instant of the gift she's offered, and wanting to touch, feel, do everything at once. Patience wins out, his fingertips sliding over the curve of her hip and up her side.
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