[ She shivers faintly as he traces a scar with his fingertips, feather-light and bordering on ticklish, getting her to wriggle again in his lap. Her lips quirk, and she shakes her head at him, smoothing her hands down his wrists, up his forearms. ]
I am already topless in your lap; there's no need for flattery.
[ But this time, it's her turn to tug at the hem of his shirt, and though she'd gotten an eyeful just by shoving it out of the way, she'd rather see all of him, properly. ]
no subject
I am already topless in your lap; there's no need for flattery.
[ But this time, it's her turn to tug at the hem of his shirt, and though she'd gotten an eyeful just by shoving it out of the way, she'd rather see all of him, properly. ]
Return the favor.