If you ever want Sophie to do anything you'd ever want, begin kissing her suprasternal notch... that indentation of where the clavicles meet at the base of the throat. For her, touching there, kissing there was one of the ultimate and simplest of pleasures. He'd found that place, if only briefly; a deep, throaty, and oh-so-soft cry was her answer. Her fingers fumbled with his fly, mainly because of the fact that there was just enough space between them for clothing.
She pressed her hips against him as his hand came up under the hem of her dress, skin exposed, now. She wore no stockings--no need most days, and if he chose to go a bit higher, his skin would meet a silky pair of violet boyshort panties. She wanted him to find them, except like a kid who's hand was in the cookie jar, he'd only be rewarded.
Rarely was Sophie conscious of her scar; not these days, anyway. But when the trail of kisses stopped right when her fingers finally unclasped the coppery button of his jeans, they stopped, too. Panting softly, she took half a moment to look at him looking at her. "The ugly thing ain't gonna bite ya, sugar," she murmured gently, tugging downward at the tab of his zipper with an almost teasing speed. Sophie could tell just how aching he was to get out... She'd give him a place to stay, alright.