[Behind her, the man grumbles, but the revelry is too bright and loud to pick a fight. Instead he turns, stumbling as he makes his way to the bar, and Rosalind exhales softly. Good.]
Thank you.
[She really hadn't wanted to spend tonight tending to cuts and bruises. Rosalind settles, shifting her weight and turning her attention back to him.
And that's . . . she blinks, suddenly aware of the fact they're pressed up together. It's nothing obscene, nothing vulgar, but still she's very much aware of all the places their bodies are touching. She's very aware that he's a foot taller than her, and that her shirt isn't buttoned all the ay up to her collar. She's aware of where his hand is, pressing against her back, rough fingers felt through thin cotton, and she notices how she feels muscle pressed against her body, hard and battle-worn.
It's awfully tempting to run her fingers over him. The thought pops into her head, lecherous and inappropriate. It isn't that she's so opposed to some kind of tryst, but she won't throw herself forward, not for any man.
But though courtesy dictates she take a step back, Rosalind doesn't. Not just yet.]
I'd tell you to buy me a drink, but I've beat you there.
[Though her whiskey is almost gone now, and she can feel it coursing through her, only adding to her heat.]
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Date: 2018-03-12 06:11 am (UTC)Thank you.
[She really hadn't wanted to spend tonight tending to cuts and bruises. Rosalind settles, shifting her weight and turning her attention back to him.
And that's . . . she blinks, suddenly aware of the fact they're pressed up together. It's nothing obscene, nothing vulgar, but still she's very much aware of all the places their bodies are touching. She's very aware that he's a foot taller than her, and that her shirt isn't buttoned all the ay up to her collar. She's aware of where his hand is, pressing against her back, rough fingers felt through thin cotton, and she notices how she feels muscle pressed against her body, hard and battle-worn.
It's awfully tempting to run her fingers over him. The thought pops into her head, lecherous and inappropriate. It isn't that she's so opposed to some kind of tryst, but she won't throw herself forward, not for any man.
But though courtesy dictates she take a step back, Rosalind doesn't. Not just yet.]
I'd tell you to buy me a drink, but I've beat you there.
[Though her whiskey is almost gone now, and she can feel it coursing through her, only adding to her heat.]
So perhaps I ought to buy you one, hm?