Did Wesley know that? Did he even begin to see? Fred suspected that he still didn't, and the knowledge only motivated her to redouble her efforts to somehow convince him otherwise.
A conviction, it seemed, that would have to wait. At least in that particular moment. She felt her breath catch, hovering thick in her throat as Wesley reached to tug the first button of her shirt free. Another button conquered, and now an audible hitch of air that caused the edges of his fingertips to just brush against sensitive skin. The quiet, deliberate skill displayed caused a new heat to pool and spread from her center, outwards.
And that was just a button.
She rolled her shoulders when Wesley was done, aware of how the fabric brushed against her skin as it fell to the floor. Fred wanted nothing more than to eliminate the space between them, and then subsequently the space between them and the bed. To tumble into the moment all limbs and mouth and those skilled, skilled hands.
But she forced herself to hold still. To give Wesley the same opportunity he'd allowed her. And she didn't flinch as his hands began to drift over her skin, exploring over less-exposed scars. Not just the still-visible gash on her arm. Or the small, round mark not far below her collar bone where the grappling hook had cut through. There were older, more faded ones as well. The ones that Charles had never once asked about. And fairly, the ones she'd never offered to explain.
It hadn't been what they wanted from her. And it hadn't been what she wanted for herself.
Wesley had seen her wall. Could translate the stories there, if he chose too. And she was...
She was...
Before Fred could navigate her way through the remainder of that thought Wesley pulled her tight against him, his mouth hot and his arousal hard against her abdomen.
Maybe now was the time to start considering that bed.
no subject
Did Wesley know that? Did he even begin to see? Fred suspected that he still didn't, and the knowledge only motivated her to redouble her efforts to somehow convince him otherwise.
A conviction, it seemed, that would have to wait. At least in that particular moment. She felt her breath catch, hovering thick in her throat as Wesley reached to tug the first button of her shirt free. Another button conquered, and now an audible hitch of air that caused the edges of his fingertips to just brush against sensitive skin. The quiet, deliberate skill displayed caused a new heat to pool and spread from her center, outwards.
And that was just a button.
She rolled her shoulders when Wesley was done, aware of how the fabric brushed against her skin as it fell to the floor. Fred wanted nothing more than to eliminate the space between them, and then subsequently the space between them and the bed. To tumble into the moment all limbs and mouth and those skilled, skilled hands.
But she forced herself to hold still. To give Wesley the same opportunity he'd allowed her. And she didn't flinch as his hands began to drift over her skin, exploring over less-exposed scars. Not just the still-visible gash on her arm. Or the small, round mark not far below her collar bone where the grappling hook had cut through. There were older, more faded ones as well. The ones that Charles had never once asked about. And fairly, the ones she'd never offered to explain.
It hadn't been what they wanted from her. And it hadn't been what she wanted for herself.
Wesley had seen her wall. Could translate the stories there, if he chose too. And she was...
She was...
Before Fred could navigate her way through the remainder of that thought Wesley pulled her tight against him, his mouth hot and his arousal hard against her abdomen.
Maybe now was the time to start considering that bed.