the pause between breathing

It doesn't sound better, or good, but Isla is too caught up in what she's feeling and the look in his eyes as he turns around to question it. Like a fly caught in a web, she's drawn in by the hands on her hips which leave her splayed against his chest, cheeks still silvery, eyes hooded. "And I get to be the one to break you back in?" A fanged smile curls across her lips, and she pulls back just enough for Varus to pull the shirt over her head, leaving her in only the skirt she'd worn to the clinic that day. "Lucky me," she purrs, stepping in again to wind her arms around him, feeling every scrap of leather and fabric and letting her kisses trail down the column of his throat. It feels like suddenly the missing piece of their attraction to one another is falling into place; more than shared interests, more than books and nerdy banter and intellectual conversation, there's raw physicality that begs to be explored. And honestly, it doesn't matter if it lasts for five hours or five seconds - firsts aren't everything, and they've the whole night to burn; that probably explains the way Isla's fingers move straight to the buttons of his pants. That and she stands no chance of figuring out how to get his other gear off. Isla the flesh is weak