He was right, of course; she wasn't ready. She should have been letting someone else explore her, marvelling at the subtle changes – the way her skin was flushing, the damp heat between her thighs, the way her breasts felt heavier than they ever had, flesh warming and firming, nipples hardening beneath her bra – instead of this... this mockery of what they had once been, because they had been glorious, far greater and more splendid than a crippled carpenter and a less than stable girl rutting furiously in a store cupboard. But Fate, God, Morgan, Whoever had chosen them as players on this great stage, and the role just made sense... didn't it?
“All this talk about your life, Ni... Nathan.” - conscious choice there, because it was this modern life he'd chosen to become preoccupied with, to wield as a clumsy shield against her advances. Fingers fumbled as a shiver ran down her spine, feeling him harden beneath her – the first wild thrill of knowing what kissing and touching can do to someone else mixed in with the continued glow of victory, spoiling thi... No, not spoiling. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Last button now. “I look at mine and there's nnn-..” - another shiver, a slight moan, a repositioning of hips to nudge, not-quite accidentally, against him - “nothing without you. Every step I've t-taken, every so called revelation has y-you at the heart of it all, and you're telling me this doesn't make any sense? Thinking I'd lost you damn near broke me in two, and you're telling me I'm not supposed to be here?”” She rolled the shirt back carefully, reaching his shoulder - “This might hurt. I don't want it to.”