The fabric was lovely, and another time he'd love to take his time with it and experiment with those textures. But right now he was still driven by that deep, heated want that had sparked with her again in the kitchen. He would have been quite surprised by her thoughts on being plain and boring, because he found her neither of those things. He liked that she liked to stay in, that she didn't force him to go out to loud places all the time when they got together to catch up, something he'd made a point to do with her since she'd woken up while he was reading that day at the hospital. Really, he was the boring one, the workaholic with not much of a social life.
He got the clasp open and let it fall away, and fingers stroked up and down her sides, just shy of being light enough to tickle, and his eyes met hers and kept her gaze without faltering. His long hair was falling in his eyes, but his pale cheeks were flushed from kissing her, his lips showing evidence that that was what they'd been doing, and his eyes were bright and beautiful as they met hers, several shades darker than they usually were.
"Pretty," he repeated firmly. Then his eyes left hers so that he could look more, and those long-fingered, almost delicate hands, one real and one not, covered her pert little breasts again and squeezed, and he made another of those satisfied little sounds before he tugged her closer again and dipped his head to take one nipple in his mouth.