[When Clara's toes finally uncurl, and she can at last unfold her knees from around his head, she eases slowly off of him, and sprawls sideways onto the rest of the bed. Her legs lie across Amos' stomach, two perpendicular lines, and her eyes take in the ridiculous, thrilling look of his face, all pink and glistening with heat and sex and her. She wants to kiss him. She wants to laugh. Who knew that she could feel this much?
Normally, she'd be winded after an orgasm like that. She'd be sweaty, her hair a mess, her body in need of a quick breather. But there's no drowsy, sated haze in her eyes when she looks back up at Amos. Instead, there's a slightly manic spark, almost a challenge.]
Get this off- [She brushes a finger against his jumpsuit.] -and show me what the rest of you can do, mister.
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Normally, she'd be winded after an orgasm like that. She'd be sweaty, her hair a mess, her body in need of a quick breather. But there's no drowsy, sated haze in her eyes when she looks back up at Amos. Instead, there's a slightly manic spark, almost a challenge.]
Get this off- [She brushes a finger against his jumpsuit.] -and show me what the rest of you can do, mister.