[ she's just got done convincing herself that the night in the tent was a way for her to scratch an itch, to chase a much-needed release with someone who looked like he could get the job done for her. it hadn't meant anything, not just because she prefers having the chance to get some and get gone but because she doesn't need the inconvenience of getting more attached to anyone here. not when opening her heart to someone has always ended badly for her.
it only had to be once. just once, and then she'd have him out of her system. then she'd stop thinking about his mouth during really inconvenient times — or worse yet, stop thinking about the sensation of his roughened hands on her body until she'd been driven to touch herself to the memory of it, coming harder on her own fingers than she can ever recall at any other time she'd aimed for something quick and dirty to help her sleep. but it only takes looking at him again now, wet and in the flesh, for her to realize that she hasn't gotten over him at all.
she can taste the rainwater on his lips, cool and clean, but there's heat beneath it, that same warmth that had surged through her the night she'd rapidly stripped her clothes off and then fit herself to him in the darkness, skin rubbing against skin not just for needed friction but with the intensity of how hard he'd finally fucked her, driving in between the spread of her legs until she'd almost bit her lip enough to draw blood in her attempt to stifle the sounds of her own moaning. here, they have the rain to drown out her sighs, and she pants more roughly, more obviously against his mouth, as his hand palms over the curve of her breast through the soaked fabric of her dress, kneading firm enough for her to feel his warmth too.
she doesn't care about being caught, or at least that's not her biggest concern right now. honestly, she's sick of feeling like she has to behave, like she has to worry about being good, when all she wants is to give in to the first thing that feels good since she got here — and that's not dancing in some stuffy ballroom, either. instead, she clutches onto him, kisses him like she's drowning and the only thing that can keep her upright is his mouth, hers opening for that first sweep of tongue that makes her groan, makes her want to feel it elsewhere, and before she can think twice she's leading him over to where she can brace herself against the closest section of railing, spreading her knees to welcome him between them with one hand braced for leverage as the other starts to hike her skirts up. ]
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it only had to be once. just once, and then she'd have him out of her system. then she'd stop thinking about his mouth during really inconvenient times — or worse yet, stop thinking about the sensation of his roughened hands on her body until she'd been driven to touch herself to the memory of it, coming harder on her own fingers than she can ever recall at any other time she'd aimed for something quick and dirty to help her sleep. but it only takes looking at him again now, wet and in the flesh, for her to realize that she hasn't gotten over him at all.
she can taste the rainwater on his lips, cool and clean, but there's heat beneath it, that same warmth that had surged through her the night she'd rapidly stripped her clothes off and then fit herself to him in the darkness, skin rubbing against skin not just for needed friction but with the intensity of how hard he'd finally fucked her, driving in between the spread of her legs until she'd almost bit her lip enough to draw blood in her attempt to stifle the sounds of her own moaning. here, they have the rain to drown out her sighs, and she pants more roughly, more obviously against his mouth, as his hand palms over the curve of her breast through the soaked fabric of her dress, kneading firm enough for her to feel his warmth too.
she doesn't care about being caught, or at least that's not her biggest concern right now. honestly, she's sick of feeling like she has to behave, like she has to worry about being good, when all she wants is to give in to the first thing that feels good since she got here — and that's not dancing in some stuffy ballroom, either. instead, she clutches onto him, kisses him like she's drowning and the only thing that can keep her upright is his mouth, hers opening for that first sweep of tongue that makes her groan, makes her want to feel it elsewhere, and before she can think twice she's leading him over to where she can brace herself against the closest section of railing, spreading her knees to welcome him between them with one hand braced for leverage as the other starts to hike her skirts up. ]