[ At best, she'll need body-pillows and cushions for support. At worst, she'll grow so confined she'll either consign him to the couch -- or vacate there herself. ]
[ Glancing around, he tries to explain that to her, one hand still scrubbing idly at his jaw. A beat later, his fingers drop away. He stares, seized with a stupid speechlessness. Well - why wouldn't he? She'd probably expect him to sit up and react. Only a dead man wouldn't: the subtle bit of white gossamer lace, held together with crocheted florals and ribbon, seems to have been crafted with the full understanding that the woman will wear it precisely once, for a matter of minutes, before it is rendered to scraps, if not positively eaten, by her appreciative lover. ]
[ Who has been doing a stupendous job of ignoring her. Is this really the time to be discussing the futon? ]
[ Hormones build a twister up through Hei's body. He is both startled yet-not, by his own voice, saying, We'll talk about it later -- and by his arms, which are around her in a moment. She's put on weight, but it suits her: there is a voluptuous pair of hips now to support the pooch of her pregnancy, and her breasts are rounder than they've ever been, their areolas so wine-dark and large, almost too big for his mouth to encompass. When she's fitted against him, his head butting softly into the crook of her shoulder, he feels the almost equatorial heat of her churning cells. ]
[ Teasingly, (a gentle deflection, because his hunger is too keenly apparent), ]
no subject
[ At best, she'll need body-pillows and cushions for support. At worst, she'll grow so confined she'll either consign him to the couch -- or vacate there herself. ]
[ Glancing around, he tries to explain that to her, one hand still scrubbing idly at his jaw. A beat later, his fingers drop away. He stares, seized with a stupid speechlessness. Well - why wouldn't he? She'd probably expect him to sit up and react. Only a dead man wouldn't: the subtle bit of white gossamer lace, held together with crocheted florals and ribbon, seems to have been crafted with the full understanding that the woman will wear it precisely once, for a matter of minutes, before it is rendered to scraps, if not positively eaten, by her appreciative lover. ]
[ Who has been doing a stupendous job of ignoring her. Is this really the time to be discussing the futon? ]
[ Hormones build a twister up through Hei's body. He is both startled yet-not, by his own voice, saying, We'll talk about it later -- and by his arms, which are around her in a moment. She's put on weight, but it suits her: there is a voluptuous pair of hips now to support the pooch of her pregnancy, and her breasts are rounder than they've ever been, their areolas so wine-dark and large, almost too big for his mouth to encompass. When she's fitted against him, his head butting softly into the crook of her shoulder, he feels the almost equatorial heat of her churning cells. ]
[ Teasingly, (a gentle deflection, because his hunger is too keenly apparent), ]
You're like a soap bubble. With arms and legs.