[ And he's rising even as you stretch out on that mattress, watching you with hooded eyes and slightly parted lips before he bends down just to kiss you on the brow. His hand moves indulgently down the curve of your spine, stopping right before he touches your ass. And then he's leaving you for a little bit, walking over to where his things have been laid out alongside yours for the bag that holds a particular set of bottled oils. He doesn't deliberately hide the one he picks from your view -- but you know these oils, don't you, down to their scent.
That's the sound of him pulling the cap before he tips it to the side so that a tiny drop falls to the center of his palm. Perhaps you'll feel the rush of memory that prompts the shudder that goes through him -- one that has nothing to do with the chill and everything to do with all the times you've taken him/he's taken you to bed in the last few weeks.
He tips a bit more onto his hand, just enough to slick both hands up before he's making his way back to you, the bottle dangling by the neck between his fingers before he sets it down on the floor as he settles down beside you.
Have a kiss to your shoulder, babe, as he smooths is palms over the expanse of your back. ]
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That's the sound of him pulling the cap before he tips it to the side so that a tiny drop falls to the center of his palm. Perhaps you'll feel the rush of memory that prompts the shudder that goes through him -- one that has nothing to do with the chill and everything to do with all the times you've taken him/he's taken you to bed in the last few weeks.
He tips a bit more onto his hand, just enough to slick both hands up before he's making his way back to you, the bottle dangling by the neck between his fingers before he sets it down on the floor as he settles down beside you.
Have a kiss to your shoulder, babe, as he smooths is palms over the expanse of your back. ]