[It's like — it's like a massage, sort of, but more possessive. That's the best way she can think of to describe it, how he's keeping his hands fairly stationary but still going out of his way to make the way he's touching her emphatic. There's plenty to catalogue and consider, but in the moment and for later — liking this, not caring for that, having no preference whatsoever about something else that on its face she might've thought she'd have a stronger opinion about. The holding is nice. The fact that the way he touches her seems to be more for her benefit than for his — that, she approves of.
And it gives her ideas. Lends guidance, about what she might try herself. She finds she likes his deft, long-fingered hands, so having them on her is exciting. She ought to figure out what he likes about her in return, and do more of it.
His face, she decides eventually. He's proud and confident and keeps himself clean-shaven, without razor burn or blemishes that might suggest a lack of care for his skin. Doubtful he ever lets anyone touch his face. She wouldn't, outside of a moment like this. Such a thing would be far, far too intimate.
So, carefully, she brings her fingers up and runs just the very tips of them around the shell of his ear, down to where the lobe comes close to his jaw, and strokes them down at a languid pace toward his chin. It's not quite to the point of holding his cheek in her hand, but the suggestion of it is there, and she keeps her touches so light as to be barely suggestions — tempting him, taunting him, waiting to gauge how he'll react.]
no subject
And it gives her ideas. Lends guidance, about what she might try herself. She finds she likes his deft, long-fingered hands, so having them on her is exciting. She ought to figure out what he likes about her in return, and do more of it.
His face, she decides eventually. He's proud and confident and keeps himself clean-shaven, without razor burn or blemishes that might suggest a lack of care for his skin. Doubtful he ever lets anyone touch his face. She wouldn't, outside of a moment like this. Such a thing would be far, far too intimate.
So, carefully, she brings her fingers up and runs just the very tips of them around the shell of his ear, down to where the lobe comes close to his jaw, and strokes them down at a languid pace toward his chin. It's not quite to the point of holding his cheek in her hand, but the suggestion of it is there, and she keeps her touches so light as to be barely suggestions — tempting him, taunting him, waiting to gauge how he'll react.]