rosarianoath

Perfect. Every moment is perfect, from the mess between her fingers to the pressure from his hold and his mouth. She moans against his lips, gentle with his cock as she slowly rests it on his belly.

"I've missed that," she says quietly before busying herself with kissing down his jaw to his neck, tongue searching for his pulse as he comes down.

Clive clutches her, the sensation hitting him like a lightning bolt to the gut before it's gone again, leaving him with an odd weightlessness. His chest rises and falls heavily, and he can only nod and breathlessly press a kiss to her forehead, her temple, whatever he can reach in turn.

"I have too. Thank you."

She turns at some point to catch his lips in a sweeter kiss, sticky hand moving over his belly and smearing the mess already there.

"My pleasure," she tells him with a smile and a nuzzle of her nose against his. "I would make you feel like this every day if I could."

How a lady like her could enjoy running her fingers through his mess, he'll never understand, but he's glad she does. He chuckles, closing his eyes again.

"Perhaps someday I'll let you."

Right now, that level of attention makes him nervous.

"And we'd never get anything done," she says, amused. She puts her hand on his hip so that she can push herself up and press a kiss to his brow.

And then, because they're on the damn laundry, she grabs a shirt from behind his head to use to clean them both up.

"Best take your shirt off so I can wash it."

She won't complain about the view.

He's loathe to take his shirt off and risk getting his own cum in his face for his trouble, but it must be done. He sits up with a little groan and pulls off his t-shirt with the fabric held as far away from his face as possible.

"The rest, too?"

Jill's wiping her fingers clean with the other shirt while watching him, smile on her lips. He's handsome. Everything he does reminds her of the fact--even something so simple as sitting up to take off his shirt.

Her smile widens and she nods.

"I suppose you should..."

Clive, scruffy haired and only one orgasm away from having been dead asleep, looks at her like she's the slyest thing on the planet.

"At the lady's request," he says, tossing the shirt in the pile with the rest of the dirty laundry... or what he assumes is dirty laundry. He starts pulling off his socks. "I should shower anyway..."

"That's a wonderful idea," she tells him. The smile remains on her face as she watches him, the muscles and lines of his body moving as he leans this way and that.

"Will you be steady on your own two feet?" Surely it's dangerous to go alone.

Jill looks a moment away from giggles.

“I think I will survive, but I will not say no to you,” he says, getting to his feet with his wet cock in one hand. His boxers are wet where he’d rubbed against them, and the wet smear of come lingers on his belly. “You can start it for me if you like…”

Jill, with no attempt to hide her joy, hops to her feet. She does pause to press a kiss to his shoulder before scurrying off to his bathroom, turning on the water a moment later.

She's happy. She hopes he is, too. This is playful and sweet--but no less affectionate, she thinks.

He cracks a smile, not quite swift enough to kiss her head in turn, and he follows after her. His bathroom is small and cramped, and he has banged his elbows many times in the narrow shower stalls, but it gets the job done. He waits for her to step out so he can step in.

"I'll be quick," he promises.

She still has a smile on her face when he swaps spots with her--any hopes of getting in there with him are dashed when she sees how much space he takes up--and she leans in for another kiss, this time on the lips.

"Next time, I'll insist you take a bath upstairs."

But she'll leave it at that, fingers brushing over his hand before she gives him a few moments of privacy to wash his junk.

He kisses her briefly, amused, his back against the wall the whole time.

"Next time," he promises.

He has to wait until she's practically out of the bathroom to close the door behind him.

And he is quick, as promised, emerging not five minutes later with wet hair and damp towel around his waist. He shuffles off to his room to get clothes.

Jill's taken the time to collect the laundry from the sofa into a basket, and switch out the loads in the machines.

She's following him shortly thereafter, still in her mood.

"Must you?" Clothes, she means. Putting them on is such a shame.

Clive keeps the towel on as he digs a pair of reasonably clean sweatpants out of his dresser, but he does chuckle under his breath.

"Must I what? Get dressed?"

Jill walks up behind him to wrap her arms around his waist. He's still damp from the shower, but she seems not to mind as she rests her cheek against his back.

"What else? I like looking at you. You're very handsome."

He's due for some flattery to balance out the letter.

One hand on the end of the towel, and the other goes to clasp over her arms. She feels cool against his back, and he itches to hold her again, to lay with her and sleep in her arms.

"You have been deprived as of late, as I understand it," he says. "And such deprivation makes you bold."

She laughs softly against him.

"It's not just... that, simply. I've missed being able to show you my affections like this. I know it cannot be the only way, or the first way, but I..."

She just squeezes him, tightly. It feels good to do.

"I want to do this right."

Even if it's strange –– and occasionally uncomfortable –– to imagine himself pleased with this kind of attention, it's at least a little more bearable when it's Jill. The siren call of her touch is difficult to avoid, too.

"I do too," he murmurs, giving her a little squeeze in return. He does really want to put pants on, though. "We take our time with it... ease back into this."

Which, she supposes, means giving space when it's needed. Recognizing it. Jill plants a kiss on his back, against his spine, before letting him go.

"I'll do my best to behave."

She sits on the edge of his bed, hands pointed folded on her lap.

Clive turns around as she sits, and he drops his towel. For a moment he's completely nude before her, and then he stoops to step into his grey sweatpants. He hikes them up to his hips and tucks himself away.

"You've succeeded admirably many, many times," he says.

For five long years, he suspects.

Jill watches him with a soft smile, taking in the sight of him. He's beautiful. And those sweatpants are a tease. Her eyes flick up to his.

"I only knew how warm your hand felt in mine, once," she recalls. "You were always quick to offer it to me when you thought I might need it."

He cracks a little smile as he catches her eyes, and then turns away to get a sweater from his closet. All his shirts are in the wash.

"It's always been available to you, Jill. I would not deny you that."

"I know. You're..." She trails off for a moment, watching his back. "You're the hero from all those books you would read. The prince that rescues the princess, even if we aren't exactly those things anymore."

Writing that letter has made her thoughtful.

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