It didn’t take long for his ministrations to ease Sophia back into her previous train of thought. A soft hum of pleasure left her lips at his breath on her neck and fingers prising her from her dress. Had she anticipated his visit, perhaps she would’ve worn something nicer than the simple white chemise that served as her last barrier to modesty. Though soon even that thought went out the window. As he dipped her back gently, she resolved that these garments wouldn’t stay on for long enough to be appreciated anyway.

As their gazes came level, they could see the effect they’d had on one another properly. Like the blush that cascaded from her cheeks to pinken her neck and chest, or her bedroom eyes matched with softly parted lips as she tried to even out her breathing. Kiss me, her blue eyes said. And then he read her mind.

They started gently, sensually at first. Sophia had a bit of work to do from this angle, other arm free now to shimmy off her other sleeve. Her toes busily slipped off her shoes. The dress pooled by her waist. She arched gently back against him then, hoping he would enjoy the show enough to let her assertively deepen their kiss. The exploration of each other’s mouths already had her heart beating like a battering ram in her chest. Perhaps she would’ve been embarrassed by it, and the eagerness with which she worked against him, if she wasn’t certain the same was happening to him.

A distant corner of her mind thought again about Jacob. Damn it all, this is not a convenient time for guilt. She quashed the thought with renewed attention on the feeling of Ozymandias, his bare chest against her back, and a lingering taste of spearmint on his tongue. Trusting his hold on her, both of Soph’s hands found his hair again, tugging him closer, closer still (still not close enough). The dancer parted from their kiss, however reluctantly, for only a moment.

“Shall we get more comfortable?” she asked, demure question belied by her low suggestive tone.

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