[ He barely has to ask; her hands slide under his shirt before the sentence even completely leaves his mouth. Her body moves forward instinctively, using the grip of her legs to anchor herself, and she helps to pull at his shirt and presses her palms to her shoulders, down his chest and ribs, fingertips grazing down the center of his stomach--
Hesitating a little at his belt.
Her eyes flick up again, seeking out his gaze for permission, or maybe just encouragement. ]
no subject
Hesitating a little at his belt.
Her eyes flick up again, seeking out his gaze for permission, or maybe just encouragement. ]
How... do you want me to touch you?