*has nothing more complicated in mind than taste you all over when he undoes those last fragile wisps of lace and silk and slips them free, as well, until you are clothed only in shadows and your own tumbling hair (tumbling, oh, so sweet across his face)*
*moves back on the bed and draws you down with him, biting his lip at the constriction of his trousers (discomfort quickly becoming the best sort of pain)* *slides his palms up your body to cup your breasts, hissing a soundless moan and wondering, for the first time, what you sound like (could your voice possibly be more lovely than your eyes, your face, the arch of your back?)*
*chases your mouth, finding himself desperate for a kiss even if it means he cannot see you properly*