[Clara feels that tiniest tinge of movement, just a stutter, just the first taste, and sucks a breath in. She knows he's trying to restrain himself; despite all his brawn, all his bravado, he's a gentle lover. Smiling, she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and runs a thumb over his jaw. It lands on his pulse just as her hips ease back up - an inch, at the most - and sink back down, rocking against his abdomen.]
I'm good, [ she says against his stubble. He can move, now, as he likes.]
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I'm good, [ she says against his stubble. He can move, now, as he likes.]