Re: Later that evening
He can feel every touch, urging him onward as her fingers move over the network of scars, the whole forming a complex road map of a hard-lived life.
He can feel the intent, almost surprised by it, but, in time, it does urge him onward, his hand reaching a breast, shifting his body back, though not breaking the kiss, only ever so slightly to give him better access, massaging the flesh gently, though not so light as before, before stroking the nipple with the tip of his thumb, brushing across the tip of the sensitive nub.
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