( it's definitely not the first time they've done this since bev showed up practically on their doorstep — and it most certainly won't be the last — but every time with her feels unique, like every time he learns something new about her (maybe even learns something new about himself, too). not just the way her body feels, reacts, responds to his touch, but the array of different laughs she has; the way his name comes out hoarse around the edges when she's close; the way she looks at him with that fierce confidence in her eyes when she rides him into the mattress because she's never had that much control before; the way his chest swells when he looks at her smile in the afterglow.
his hands travel up her back, pushing under the hem of her shirt, following the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist. he bites at the soft skin just above her collarbone, sucking at it until it blooms under his mouth, soothes it over with his tongue. )
You're telling me you, Beverly Marsh, fashion designer extraordinaire, came all this way to see me and conveniently forgot to pack any lingerie? ( he finds that hard to believe. still, his mouth meets hers again, tongue slipping past her lips, one hand brushing over the plane of her torso and further down still, beyond the waistband of her sweatpants. maybe he is a little disappointed to find something other than satin or lace, but it's a fleeting thought that's easily overtaken by the warmth of her under his palm as he presses against her.
he pulls back from her lips just barely, enough to look her in the eyes when he tells her exactly what he imagined during that shower, the air hot between them. ) I was thinking...
( he's already half hard under the robe, desperate for contact, friction, anything. but tonight feels slow, lazy, and as much as it'll drive him wild, he won't regret it for a moment. )
About you, those hands of yours, wishing it was you touching me, working out all that tension, how good it feels, how good you make me feel, Bev. How good I could make you feel, on my knees, lapping you up until you tremble, breathless, barely able to say my name.
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his hands travel up her back, pushing under the hem of her shirt, following the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist. he bites at the soft skin just above her collarbone, sucking at it until it blooms under his mouth, soothes it over with his tongue. )
You're telling me you, Beverly Marsh, fashion designer extraordinaire, came all this way to see me and conveniently forgot to pack any lingerie? ( he finds that hard to believe. still, his mouth meets hers again, tongue slipping past her lips, one hand brushing over the plane of her torso and further down still, beyond the waistband of her sweatpants. maybe he is a little disappointed to find something other than satin or lace, but it's a fleeting thought that's easily overtaken by the warmth of her under his palm as he presses against her.
he pulls back from her lips just barely, enough to look her in the eyes when he tells her exactly what he imagined during that shower, the air hot between them. ) I was thinking...
( he's already half hard under the robe, desperate for contact, friction, anything. but tonight feels slow, lazy, and as much as it'll drive him wild, he won't regret it for a moment. )
About you, those hands of yours, wishing it was you touching me, working out all that tension, how good it feels, how good you make me feel, Bev. How good I could make you feel, on my knees, lapping you up until you tremble, breathless, barely able to say my name.