He hadn't known what to expect when he'd turned towards her. The hand on his arm pleased him; the kiss more so. One might have argued that this was to be expected; he had already gotten her alone in a dark room at night, with a locked door standing between them and the rest of the world. What else were they here for, if not this? But he had more experience than most in seduction, and knew not to make an assumption like that too hastily. There were thousands of lines drawn in the sand, for a woman like her — or for anyone, really; it wasn't the amount of lines that changed based on one's sex or status or societal standing, only what they represented. She had crossed a few tonight, and might cross more — but crossing one did not imply a willingness to continue. Some lines would mean more to her than others, and this was impossible to predict: an entirely personal consideration. There was a cadence to these things, he had discovered. A rush of rules discarded in a flurry, and then one that took time, deliberation; one that mattered. A tipping point, and then another rush once it was successfully tipped.
The kiss felt like a tipping point, for her. He could feel it in the pause between when she'd touched his arm and when she tipped her head to him. It wasn't a long pause, but it was a loaded one. His return kiss was soft for a moment, but escalated when she didn't pull back too quickly. He took a step closer to her and let their arms slide naturally into a half-embrace, his free hand wrapping around her elbow and his forearm running below hers. He sought out her tongue with his. The wine glass in his hand was becoming a detriment; the prop had served its purpose for the moment, but he didn't want to disengage long enough to put it down.
Her husband didn't kiss her like this, he could tell. When he had been younger and less experienced he'd sometimes talked to women about their husbands — he'd spent a lot of time with Elfrieda letting her complain about hers. He didn't do that anymore. He knew the patterns well enough to make assumptions, and he never learned anything especially novel from hearing about yet another self-centered rutting fool. Their performance was irrelevant to him, and the reminder of what sex was like with them was sometimes detrimental to his goal of seducing the unhappy wives. He could tell everything he needed to from a moment like this one. She was a little clumsy with her tongue, but eager; she liked this, and had the potential to be good at it, but hadn't been given many opportunities to practice. Ergo: her husband didn't kiss her like this. A follow-on conclusion: she was not an experienced adulteress.
It was the second conclusion that lead him to pause when the kiss eventually drew to its end. He wanted to undress her, to see her bare skin glowing in the moonlight, but if this was the first time she was going to do this... He certainly didn't want to rush her into anything, if she needed a moment to coalesce around this new sense of self — the version of her who was not faithful to an uninspiring husband. He kept his arm where it was against hers as he met her eyes, giving her space to speak; to back down; to ask for more.
The kiss felt like a tipping point, for her. He could feel it in the pause between when she'd touched his arm and when she tipped her head to him. It wasn't a long pause, but it was a loaded one. His return kiss was soft for a moment, but escalated when she didn't pull back too quickly. He took a step closer to her and let their arms slide naturally into a half-embrace, his free hand wrapping around her elbow and his forearm running below hers. He sought out her tongue with his. The wine glass in his hand was becoming a detriment; the prop had served its purpose for the moment, but he didn't want to disengage long enough to put it down.
Her husband didn't kiss her like this, he could tell. When he had been younger and less experienced he'd sometimes talked to women about their husbands — he'd spent a lot of time with Elfrieda letting her complain about hers. He didn't do that anymore. He knew the patterns well enough to make assumptions, and he never learned anything especially novel from hearing about yet another self-centered rutting fool. Their performance was irrelevant to him, and the reminder of what sex was like with them was sometimes detrimental to his goal of seducing the unhappy wives. He could tell everything he needed to from a moment like this one. She was a little clumsy with her tongue, but eager; she liked this, and had the potential to be good at it, but hadn't been given many opportunities to practice. Ergo: her husband didn't kiss her like this. A follow-on conclusion: she was not an experienced adulteress.
It was the second conclusion that lead him to pause when the kiss eventually drew to its end. He wanted to undress her, to see her bare skin glowing in the moonlight, but if this was the first time she was going to do this... He certainly didn't want to rush her into anything, if she needed a moment to coalesce around this new sense of self — the version of her who was not faithful to an uninspiring husband. He kept his arm where it was against hers as he met her eyes, giving her space to speak; to back down; to ask for more.
![[Image: 0hYxCaj.png]](https://i.imgur.com/0hYxCaj.png)
MJ made this <3