WIP: Handmade

He kneeled down and slipped my socks off, stroking along my shins, my calves, the arches of my feet and the bones in my ankles. My usual impatience was gone, replaced by an ethereal sort of contentedness. He pulled me to my feet to let my pants drop and pool on the floor, then traced the seams of my underwear, the lines of the printed roses while I stood. He cupped my breasts, my puckered nipples aching. His hands were hot, rough in places and he could palm the entirety of the flesh.
“You’re lovely.” He whispered, shifting in close. “Lovely and perfect.” His fingers brushed over the plastic wrap, and I felt myself shift out of that languidness into fierce desire.
“You’re perfect.” I cupped his face and ran my thumbs over the grooves beside his eyes, the little lines I hadn’t noticed inked into his temples and disappearing beneath his hair. “You’re a miracle of timing.”
I finally kissed him then, soft and sweet at first, then teasing his mouth open to plunder him. His hands clutched at my hips, and I writhed against him, finger busily unbuttoning his shirt and pants.

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