There is something utterly intoxicating about mutual attraction. A different kind than our Irishman is- or was- capable of inducing. (Damn, the throb in his bloody skull.) Both are similar in their own ways, but ultimately different. Soft breathiness, narrowed vision, thoughts cloudy, senses and self-awareness heightened. It was a delectable feeling, easy to get lost in. Clearly Reilly is an addictive personality, and if it wasn't his ability he'd grown to crave (sometimes more than life), it was definitely this.
She allows him close to her, and his whole being tenses and relaxes at the same time. That moment of curious acceptance passes in the close space between them, becoming heated by his almost-touch and the breath he softly blows across her skin. He sends whispered words to her, and she croons a sultry retort. His own reply is something of a deep rumble in turn, resembling a "mmm" sound of approval at her words. It is almost too good to touch her, as if closing the distance and feeling her warmth and softness meeting with his would ignite a fire too hot and wild. Too quick to control. It isn't something he fears, simply one he wishes to prolong. He savors the moment for a breath or two before he pulls away, turning his heated gaze to her face. The hushed groan that slips from her is nearly his undoing, nearly has him delving in for more. Oh, he wants to.
But then her lids lift and her eyes search his, and something shifts. There is a blankness in her gaze, for only a second, as though his eyes are not those she expects to see. A silly thought, and a fleeting one. It is there one moment, and gone the next. He wonders, briefly, who it is she had wanted to see. A lost lover, perhaps? The mere speculation brings on another bout of chills and his head aches, stomach churning. He tries so hard to avoid flinching, blinking away the sudden dizziness as he speaks to dislodge the pain and bring her focus back to him. It seems to work somewhat, but his aqua eyes widen a bit as she barks a laugh in response. Intrigued by her words, he tilts his head a bit (as much as the tension built in his neck would currently allow). Not so eager to let the sparks die between them, that mischievous grin plays back over his lips. "Hmmm, that so, is it?" His voice is low, husky and deep.
He moves again, slowly, stepping in toward her and sidling along her right side. He allows the barest of touches (his shoulder brushing hers, his velveteen nose gently grazing over her back), taking in her scent as he passes and rounds her curvy behind. Reilly is a gentle sort, not overtly pushy or perverted in his intentions. He has a practiced way of reading women, only going as far as is comfortable between them. And so, he keeps his neck craned over her haunches, muzzle placed at the point of her croup as he then comes up her left side. Retracting his head, he prolongs the glorious feel of her sunny hide against his blanched white, with his shoulder still barely touching her own. "Wouldn't mind finding out what your body has to hide, if am being perfectly honest."
Oh, Reilly, if you only knew.
She allows him close to her, and his whole being tenses and relaxes at the same time. That moment of curious acceptance passes in the close space between them, becoming heated by his almost-touch and the breath he softly blows across her skin. He sends whispered words to her, and she croons a sultry retort. His own reply is something of a deep rumble in turn, resembling a "mmm" sound of approval at her words. It is almost too good to touch her, as if closing the distance and feeling her warmth and softness meeting with his would ignite a fire too hot and wild. Too quick to control. It isn't something he fears, simply one he wishes to prolong. He savors the moment for a breath or two before he pulls away, turning his heated gaze to her face. The hushed groan that slips from her is nearly his undoing, nearly has him delving in for more. Oh, he wants to.
But then her lids lift and her eyes search his, and something shifts. There is a blankness in her gaze, for only a second, as though his eyes are not those she expects to see. A silly thought, and a fleeting one. It is there one moment, and gone the next. He wonders, briefly, who it is she had wanted to see. A lost lover, perhaps? The mere speculation brings on another bout of chills and his head aches, stomach churning. He tries so hard to avoid flinching, blinking away the sudden dizziness as he speaks to dislodge the pain and bring her focus back to him. It seems to work somewhat, but his aqua eyes widen a bit as she barks a laugh in response. Intrigued by her words, he tilts his head a bit (as much as the tension built in his neck would currently allow). Not so eager to let the sparks die between them, that mischievous grin plays back over his lips. "Hmmm, that so, is it?" His voice is low, husky and deep.
He moves again, slowly, stepping in toward her and sidling along her right side. He allows the barest of touches (his shoulder brushing hers, his velveteen nose gently grazing over her back), taking in her scent as he passes and rounds her curvy behind. Reilly is a gentle sort, not overtly pushy or perverted in his intentions. He has a practiced way of reading women, only going as far as is comfortable between them. And so, he keeps his neck craned over her haunches, muzzle placed at the point of her croup as he then comes up her left side. Retracting his head, he prolongs the glorious feel of her sunny hide against his blanched white, with his shoulder still barely touching her own. "Wouldn't mind finding out what your body has to hide, if am being perfectly honest."
Oh, Reilly, if you only knew.
