[Her inhale is deep, startled but quick to match him. Normally he wouldn't be able to catch her off guard at all, but her mind has been better geared towards the indolent since she had him pressed along her back. Instead, she's curved in along his side, twining her legs around one of his while she weathers that kiss, holding on at the back of his neck. It's fairly inevitable that once she's caught up she'll bite back at him, teeth catching and keeping for a moment, dark-eyed and possessive.]
[He hisses, and she's drawn blood. The tang is salt and metal in the corner of his mouth, pressed back against hers with flagrant disregard for anything fearful (or merely unhygienic) in the act.]
[This little game is tame in comparison to how she can be. She's has vampires and murderers and devils to play with when Chase doesn't want anything to do with her. (It's been better, less of a constant nervous ache and instead an occasional indulgence of cruelty when someone invites her Underground.) Her tongue touches the site long enough to encourage a small pink mess between them. Maybe it's not all that different a stain from the lipstick, but she can taste it, and she can feel his hiss. She presses him in tighter to her, fingers digging at his hip, unrelenting.]
[It's tame even in comparison to his comparatively mild experience, but that's not a disappointment. It's too warm a night for fireworks; this is enjoyable for being so languid. He takes the press of her body against him as an invitation to hold her, arms finding out the places where they best fit.]
[The huff she gives is not dissatisfied, just breathless. She's pleased to be kept close, she likes that swelter: half-suffocated, overheating. Her mouth is tingling, piqued and sticky, pliant while she gasps and demanding when she can concentrate well enough to make them. Her hands are similarly coordinated, raking up the backside where she already knows there are scars to follow.]
[There are, but she's left tracing the rough denim of the jeans he didn't think to kick off when she slid out of her dress. He's not thinking about kicking them off now, ether. Maybe he does live to frustrate her, still waiting for the meaning of stay up here to fully sink in. That doesn't mean he's not responsive to the touch, pressing his palms into the small of her back to keep her flush with him.]
[She thinks she's been very obedient to what she was told... But she'll always push, wondering just where he draws the line for 'hassling.' She's not built for contentment, there's always the urge to take more. Tactile as she is, it will frequently come in her hands: tracing out the layering of muscle, the cut of bones. She'd have put her mouth on half of him by now too if she hadn't been distracted from it. It can't be helped.
And in her defense, the button of his stupid jeans is digging in to her stomach.]
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And in her defense, the button of his stupid jeans is digging in to her stomach.]