[Fuck, and her breath leaves her, her mouth dropping open eagerly as he kisses her. One hand wraps tight around the back of his neck, and each time he pulls back to speak she's darting up, desperate to reclaim his mouth. He kisses her hard, leaving her lips sore in the best possible way, and she returns each one with a moan.
Her other hand is busy in the meantime: tugging at the buttons of her shirt, the zipper of her skirt, fingers fumbling in her haste to do as he says. She doesn't stop kissing him all the while, pulling back only to bite hard at his bottom lip (and oh, she'll be delighted if she draws blood) or tip her head a different way.
At last she manages to pull her shirt off, rolling her shoulders so it drops to the ground. Her skirt follows, her panties, and though she fumbles a little, the clasp on her bra is soon unhooked. Her stockings will need both hands, but she doubts he'll mind she still has them on.
And there she is, naked and cold, bare before him even as he's still dressed. She'd done it so quickly she hadn't realized, but now Rosalind pants softly, very much aware of the sudden difference between them.
She isn't embarrassed. A little shy, perhaps, but even then it's a quiet thing. Licking her lips, she stares up at him for a few seconds, then presses herself forward, lithe body flush against his.
Her kiss is softer, but no less hungry than the ones of before. And now both her hands work together, tugging at the buttons of his shirt, eager to get him at least a little undressed. It's only fair.
(But this game isn't actually about fairness, not in the least).]
Off--
[She murmurs it, and rises to her toes, catching him in another kiss.]
Shirt off, that ridiculous kilt-- if you're to see me, I want to see you--
no subject
Her other hand is busy in the meantime: tugging at the buttons of her shirt, the zipper of her skirt, fingers fumbling in her haste to do as he says. She doesn't stop kissing him all the while, pulling back only to bite hard at his bottom lip (and oh, she'll be delighted if she draws blood) or tip her head a different way.
At last she manages to pull her shirt off, rolling her shoulders so it drops to the ground. Her skirt follows, her panties, and though she fumbles a little, the clasp on her bra is soon unhooked. Her stockings will need both hands, but she doubts he'll mind she still has them on.
And there she is, naked and cold, bare before him even as he's still dressed. She'd done it so quickly she hadn't realized, but now Rosalind pants softly, very much aware of the sudden difference between them.
She isn't embarrassed. A little shy, perhaps, but even then it's a quiet thing. Licking her lips, she stares up at him for a few seconds, then presses herself forward, lithe body flush against his.
Her kiss is softer, but no less hungry than the ones of before. And now both her hands work together, tugging at the buttons of his shirt, eager to get him at least a little undressed. It's only fair.
(But this game isn't actually about fairness, not in the least).]
Off--
[She murmurs it, and rises to her toes, catching him in another kiss.]
Shirt off, that ridiculous kilt-- if you're to see me, I want to see you--