Senga balanced on her toes, kissing Erramun. There was a split second where she thought he wouldn’t respond before he kissed back, pressing his throat against her hands. As she drew on the kiss, letting her thumbs brush against the tattoos she’d inked into his skin, he put first one hand and then the other on her waist to brace her.
She snaked one hand around to the back of his neck and drew out the kiss; he pressed his hand against the small of her back, holding her to him. She caught a breath and stole a glance at him; he had closed his eyes. He leaned in towards her; she kissed him again, her fingers all pressing into his neck.
At the moment when she thought that her toes might give out, he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kept hissing him, pressing her whole body against his. They were still wearing quite inconvenient clothing; she wanted to do something about that, but that would require either that she stop kissing him or stop touching him. Possibly both. Neither were acceptable.
He turned slowly around, so slowly she almost didn’t notice what he was doing, and set her on the bed. A moment later, he set her on the bed and, very slowly, disengaged.
Senga opened her eyes and made a soft noise, not quite a complaint. He froze.
“I think,” he murmured, “that Mistress-” Continue reading