Stephen is spared, at least for the immediate moment, any protests about how well thought out and specific her unhinged tangent had been because the press of his lips is a welcome distraction— kindling heat and an unfamiliarly nervous energy in the pit of her stomach. He, probably, cannot feel with his mouth the place where she can almost feel with her fingers some nothing remnant,
she can feel the flutter of her wings beneath the flimsy fabric of her nightgown, and her stomach swoops, and she slides her fingers higher to loop through his.
“I know that it hasn’t exactly been,” what’s the word she’s looking for, “… recent, now,”
is a sort of set up that doesn’t go anywhere, exactly. She is very aware of her weight in his lap and the scrape of his morning-untidy beard against her skin and that she hasn’t stopped wanting him, actually, even as her own body has become a stranger landscape to her than it has ever been.
no subject
she can feel the flutter of her wings beneath the flimsy fabric of her nightgown, and her stomach swoops, and she slides her fingers higher to loop through his.
“I know that it hasn’t exactly been,” what’s the word she’s looking for, “… recent, now,”
is a sort of set up that doesn’t go anywhere, exactly. She is very aware of her weight in his lap and the scrape of his morning-untidy beard against her skin and that she hasn’t stopped wanting him, actually, even as her own body has become a stranger landscape to her than it has ever been.