( Call it a talent. Call it her own need to forget or the drive to find some familiar, physical comfort in this foreign place. Selfish reasons for distracting them both, ones she'll regret in the morning but, for now, are nothing more than vague whispers easily silenced by touch and movement. Touches that are rarely sought out, hands of others that would be bound or pinned away from her body in any other moment, currently feel right in a way that isn't the desperate, clawing anger of the first time with Carl. So she lets them go, her own trailing their way across his throat and face, mapping out the lines of muscle and bone with slow touches as lips break apart with shallow breaths, drawing back just enough to make Will follow, work a little bit for this.
(There's something intoxicating in that sort of control, the simple ability to pull noise and movement from another, that she can never quite get enough of.)
Then there's his fingers against the elastic at her ribs, brushing just below the curve of her breast, all too close to the heavy thrum of her heart. And whether it's bad habit or being drunk off the thrill of being wanted, who knows, but Kate finds his wrists with sudden, nearly too-quick, movement and tugs them away, pushing to pin Will's hands down on the couch. )
Ah-
( A smirk playing on her lips as she pulls back enough to look down at him. Not yet. )
i'm so sorry for this garbage fire
(There's something intoxicating in that sort of control, the simple ability to pull noise and movement from another, that she can never quite get enough of.)
Then there's his fingers against the elastic at her ribs, brushing just below the curve of her breast, all too close to the heavy thrum of her heart. And whether it's bad habit or being drunk off the thrill of being wanted, who knows, but Kate finds his wrists with sudden, nearly too-quick, movement and tugs them away, pushing to pin Will's hands down on the couch. )
Ah-
( A smirk playing on her lips as she pulls back enough to look down at him. Not yet. )
Patience.