Silver Shy-Bi Girl
  • Content count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Country


Community Reputation

87 Excellent


About ScarletOnIce

Profile Information

  • Music
    Everything, from Classic to Punk to Hip Hop. It's just, music' so GOOD!
  • Location
    Beautiful French-Canada!
  • Interests
    When I don't work or worry, I listen to music, read or write. Too many passions to fit them all in a lifetime, but I try! I enjoy a cool glass of white wine when I feel classy, and a neat bottle of whiskey when I'm feeling myself. Currently in a quest to find my own happiness.
  • Signature Fragrance
    La Vie Est Belle - Lancôme
  • Favourite Book
    The Secret History - Donna Tartt
  1. 18. All These Things I Always Fantasized About In your dream, you won’t lie, you’ve played this position out countless of times before. In your fantasies, daydreams; while you touched yourself and were willing to indulge in something a little racier. And there she is. Pretty jean-shirt and tight beige pants still on; she looks gorgeous and surprised – aroused. Wanting. Waiting. Impatient. You bend down and kiss her, passionate and hungry, freely, lips gliding overs hers; all teeth and tongue and breathless moans. Once your lungs hurt enough for oxygen that you just have to pull away, you sit back straight. And you take a second to just watch her. She makes your head spin with just how pretty she is when she wants you. You smile, biting at the corner of your lip, as you put both hands to her bare collarbones. And glide down. Your fingers follow the stitches and the buttons until your reach the first unopened one. There’s a flash of worry shining in her eyes as your start to twist it open, but you calm it down with a timely roll of your hips that has her hands shoot to your waist. “I want to see you”, you breathe around a smile. “I want to feel you”, you insist, hoping she understands that you need her skin revealed, you need to have her as bare as you are. She squeezes at your hips and follows your curves down ‘til she reaches your upper thighs. While her thumbs ghost over your naked skin, you undo the first button of her shirt. And the next. You lean forward and kiss at her neck as your fingers fiddle with the next button, and the one right under that one. She smells so good, so sweet; so real. She tastes so good, too, you think, as you lick at her collarbone. She breathes and moves against you, silent and contained, while the back of your fingers graze her sternum as you bare her skin. You want to marvel and you want to moan, at the way you can feel she wants and at how much she holds back. You kiss down her body and undo the last remaining buttons, pressing one chaste kiss on the curve of her breasts. You don’t part her shirt just yet, for her sake, and you just sit back instead. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that”, you speak around a breathless moan. When you finally pull the lapels of her shirt apart, it’s while you bend down and kiss her. It’s hard, putting words and thinking thoughts, when you lick at her tongue while your hands finally, finally, reach her bare skin. She’s soft and warm; she’s a lot like running out of time, like there’s a ticking time-bomb inside you that threatens to go off any second. When you finally sit back up, breathless and hungry, her shirt is open and you finally get to see it all; her bra, her stomach, her hips - that faint blush starting at her ribs and getting lost around her neckline. And it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.
  2. 17. Take Charge; I Can’t Breathe In your dream, you don’t realize it right away, how she sets a beat, how her body moves like waves, wanting and undulating in such a subtle way. The hands she has at your hips press into you and move to your back, your shoulder blades, only to drift back down and struggle to cup your ass. She pulls you closer into her, a little harder, and you think you hear some sort of soft grunt that has your heart stutter. It happens quickly, then, too quick for you to notice; one second you’re on her lap, the other your back is against the mattress and she’s towering over you. She flipped you over and you’re left dizzy and wanting, breathless and aroused. She only seems surprised for a single second before it’s her turn to slot her thighs on each side of your hips and slink back down, tilting your chin up with the angle of her mouth, one hand moving next to your head and the other landing on your bare hip. She seems impatient in the way she devours your mouth and grabs at your side – pulling a sigh from your lungs, and it makes your head spin enough that you forget all about the impeding heartbreak. There’s nothing you can do to stop your hands from finding her waist and pulling her closer to you. The cloth under your fingertips makes you groan; she’s still so very overdressed while you lie under her in just your underwear. You pull at her clothes like it could change anything, and bite at her lip, only to have her glide away and lower, printing feverish kisses to the column of your throat. You find her waist again and, in one desperate attempt to get her closer to you, your hands glide to her hips and you pull her down. It’s instant and like a well-known trick, the way her pelvis rocks in one smooth arc and right into you in one powerful motion, hips rocking just once as she presses her core against you and breathes a faint, girly moan. Her free hand travels across the flat plane of your stomach – you only notice it when she nips at your collarbone hard enough to pull a full-blown whine from your lips and you feel the need to focus on something other than her mouth unraveling you. The pull fueling her fingers become hesitant as she starts to move upward, fingertips gliding over each of your ribs until they bump against your bra. Her lips still at the crook of your neck and you smile in a shiver. “You should have taken that off”, you tease, and, before she replies, the hands you had at her waist pull and twist, push and turn, until she’s the one with her back to the bed and you’re straddling her.
  3. 16. Papercut In your dream, you nibble at her neck once and she hums - her throat faintly vibrating under your lips - and you smile. There’s this sweet smell you take the time to taste with a faint lick, this scent that has followed her around and twisted your thoughts for so many years. You find it gliding over her warm skin and you can’t help but smile some more. It’s so soft, the scent of her, so subtle and so faint, it could never be heart-wrenching like some other smells are, yet it has always had your heart stutter in such a strong way whenever you could catch it. Rare and powerful; mesmerizing. You nip at her neck a little higher, just below her ear, slow and lingering; breathing-in deep. That scent, you could recognize it anywhere. It smells a little like yours, a little like some sort a distant dream that you couldn’t hold on to. And even as she’s right there, clenching at your hips with every bite and every stroke you lay upon the side of her neck, Ice still smells like she’s too far away. You drag your nose across her jaw and find her lips, kissing her while you press your brow to hers, and your hand glides to the back of her head, fingers getting lost in silky strands. As your lips part to catch her tongue, you breathe in deep once more and pull her closer, pressing your body to hers, and you don’t want to acknowledge it but it’s there, this papercut upon your heart. The full weight of what you’re doing hits you straight to the chest – once the 12 Hours are up, so will you be. So you kiss her with the passion of thirst, knowing you might never get the chance to kiss her again, and the papercut stretches, faintly at first, until your whole chest is burning. You keep your brow against hers, pull away and lick your lips, breathing shallow and cheeks burning. She catches your bottom lip between her teeth and pulls at it, and it’s enough to have you stumble into another heated kiss. There’s a little blood machine going haywire within your ribcage, pumping like crazy. It expends, the papercut, with every powerful beat of your heart, turns into a distant heartbreak, and it sorta hurts. For the first time since you stepped into this room, as you rock your hips without meaning to and moan against her lips - as arousal resumes its unstoppable swell and as your heart starts to beat out of your chest - it occurs to you. You might not be all that okay once this is over.
  4. 15. The Ocean In your dream, light still slightly filters through the curtains, enough that you can see your surroundings and the outline of her, sitting on the bed. Desire, want and doubt make your head spin, yet you walk to her like it’s the only thing you can do – you walk until you’re facing her and then you move, strong and assured, until you’re sitting on her lap. She’s everywhere around you, everything you can breathe – her hands moving to seize your hips as if on auto-pilot - and it’s the perfect kind of slow torture, being so close to her while feeling like you’re not close enough. She feels good under you, tight and warm and real at last. You smile as you push your hands across her shoulders and around her neck, fingertips ticking the fine hair at the nape. You push soft strands to her left shoulder, baring one side of her neck, and you touch your fingertips to her forehead, barely making contact, gliding to her temple with slow reverence. Your gaze flicks from your fingers to her eyes and you make sure you see her, you look at her, honest and open, in the hope that she can see, through your wide pools of dark green, the things you’ve wanted to hide from so many people before her. And you think she can see it, by the way her eyes shine in the dimly lit room, bright and intense like so often before. It makes you quake inside, feeling vulnerable and bare, like you’re so paper-thin you can’t contain the wild wind blowing between your ribs. The hands around your waist give a single, re-assuring squeeze, her thumbs slowly moving across the flat plane of your upper stomach, and it sends a muted shiver along your spine, something soft yet cutting that makes you smile. You can’t explain it and you can’t fight it this time, the rolling wave that pushes up your insides - ambers of arousal still sweltering, tenderness so soft like warm water, everything melting and mixing and wanting, a fusion of comfort and danger, of relief and risk– of intimacy. It rolls and roars and soars within you like a storm lost somewhere in the middle of the ocean, far away enough that it doesn’t scare you, close enough that it fills you with thrill. You move into her and touch your lips to the side of her neck, hiding a smile against silky, warm skin, kissing once, twice, slowly, up to her ear. The breathless whisper that leaves your throat, then, does not surprise you, you felt it coming as the storm grew on, but there’s still an edge of uncertainty as you murmur against her skin: “I’m glad you’re here.”
  5. @Lindalu I’m very happy you follow this story and like it
  6. 14. Fighting and Silliness In your dream, you sit straight and enjoy the feel of her hips against your inner thighs, careful to not put too much weight onto her. Both because you don't want to feel too heavy, and 'cause the tight warmth coiling at the apex of your thighs probably couldn't stand even just the slightest pressure right now. You take a second to watch her, lying under you, hair splayed on the comforter, cheeks lightly pink, before you ask. "This okay?" Her hands find purchase on your bare thighs, unmoving and simply resting, and she smiles something both lazy and shy. "Yes." The blue of her shirt makes her eyes sparkle in an almost shocking way, making them pop like bright pools of sky-blue, and you smile to yourself as thoughts rush through your mind; pictures of unraveling relief permeating these light blues and turning them into dark, shimmering mirrors of midnight. The hands on your thighs push impulses through your body: Like lazy waves, you crave to press down and rock your hips, following their tide in a slow, unhurried back and forth. But you just smile, instead of giving in just yet, before you ask: "You'll tell me if something is off or doesn't feel good, yeah?" Her smile gets a bit brighter, a little more mischievous. "Yes. It's all good." You lift a single eyebrow, teasing, and your mouth twists into a falsely offended smirk. "Good? That's it? Just good?" You can see the spark of contempt and playful contention shine in her eyes before she even parts her lips: "Yup. Just good." "Oh. Oh...", you reply, frowning and looking away, a playful lilt to your voice as you answer. "Well, if it's just good then..." You start moving away and she tries to grab at your thighs with a chuckle and a roll of her eyes, but you manage to twist away and off of her as she sits up. You're back on your feet, not that far away from her that she couldn't reach out if she tried, and you put both hands on your hips, looking down at her with a barely contained grin. She blows a falsely annoyed huff of air and it makes your smirk devilishly. "Come back here", she tells you, half-pleading and half-annoyed and, really, she needs to stop, 'cause you think your smile can only stretch so much before it breaks your face. "Nuh huh, not for 'just good'", you chuckle around the laughter that bubbles at the back of your throat. And there it is, the subtle way she looks away in a short, half eye roll. She doesn't reply, though, and, sincerely, it's your pleasure to insist: "’Cause, really, we could do somethin' else here. How good are you at poker?" She frowns, but the way one corner of her mouth curves upwards tells you she's not THAT annoyed at your childish behavior. "Such a teenager." It is said with yet another sigh that you find lovely, and it manifests itself once more, this feeling of intimacy, of something more, that you have to fight off and away from your mind. You grin, happy and open, and you bite at the corner of your mouth before you walk away and to the left side of the bed. You grab at the curtains bracketing the window you just walked to and close them in one swift motion. "So, no poker, then?"
  7. 13. Slow In your dream, you grab at the empty glass again and hold it away from you as you lean in, two fingers reaching under her chin to tilt her head upward. She tastes like wine and want, both cold and hot at the same time, and you take your time licking and nipping at her bottom lip, so soft and so tight under your tongue. One of her hands finds its way to your waist, the other lands high on your thigh, and you inhale deeply against her lips, something slow and full, as her fingers draw tiny circle onto your heated skin. You kiss her, lazy and slow, enjoying the way she feels when she pushes surreptitiously into you every time you move a little too far, reveling in the way her mouth chases after yours when it seems like you might be pulling away. The two fingers you have at her throat glide down the column of her neck and twist at her collarbone. And then you push, with fingertips and lips, just a little - you push into her, smiling into a relentless kiss as her tongue licks at yours. She starts moving back and you follow the motion, dropping the glass onto the carpeted floor and pushing more fully into her until her shoulder blades are flat against the bed. Your lips never part, and you hold yourself above her with one hand as the other moves to toy with the hem of her shirt. The back of your fingers grazes soft, warm skin at the hollow of her hip and you want to moan she feels so good. You feel dizzy, breathless. You kiss her around a smile, pulling away just long enough so suck at her bottom lip. Both of her hands land tentatively on your back, fingers curling at your ribcage and gliding to your waist, pulling you slightly more into her. You nip at her lip one last time before you pull away and, in one slow, sure motion, you fold your leg atop the bed until you’re straddling her hips.
  8. 12. Predator In your dream, a mischievous grin stretches at your lips as you take a step back. You can feel your gaze heavy and burning as it locks onto her, and time seems to stand to a still as you take the time to watch her. Her lips are slightly swollen, a little redder. Her eyes are dark and hooded, eyelids fluttering open. Her hands glide along your sides and fall away as you walk backwards and out of reach. In just a black, lacy bra, tiny, black briefs and black, silky heels, you think you should feel much more exposed, or a little colder, but you don’t. Her eyes on you make you feel hot, wanted, like the air in the room is filled with dry steam. You keep grinning at her with hungry, playful eyes – happy that it’s finally your time to play – and you chuckle something low and throaty before you lick your lips. “Sit”, you tell her, nodding at the bed once. She seems a little dazed as she looks behind her before her eyes fall back onto the shape of you, her gaze tumbling down your body like a wave of lazy, scalding water. The way she looks at you makes you tingle and thrills you, excites you. The familiar buzz of arousal rumbling deep within you vibrates with that much more purpose as you watch her watching you, slow and open; intrigued. She takes her time shuffling to the bed and sitting on its edge; and you take your time turning around, walking to the dresser where the bottle of wine sits - cold and damp, tiny droplets of condensation pearling on the clear surface. You pour wine into one single glass and can feel predation in the sway of your hips as you walk back to the bed. Her eyes don’t leave your body and she licks at her pretty pink lips reflectively, making you smirk. You hand her the glass once you are within reach, walking until your knees touch hers. She doesn’t say a word and takes the glass, looking up at you as she brings it to her lips and takes a sip. There’s so much you can see in her eyes, so many emotions swimming and battling in big, bright pools of blue. There’s want, amusement and impatience; nervousness and something you delightfully take as some sort of defiance. You curl your fingers over hers and slowly take the glass from her, taking a sip of your own. Her suddenly free hand curves at your hip and her cold fingers make you shiver one step closer to her, until you have one knee on the bed, touching her thigh. You are not outright straddling her just yet, but the thought that you could be sends a thrill through your body, spine aflame and tingling with restlessness. There’s a warm, tight ache slowly coiling between your thighs, and you take one more sip of wine, hoping it can cool you down slightly. You hand her the glass once again and smile, something hungry and breathless, as you watch her drink the last of the wine. “You are so fucking pretty”, you breathe in a whisper, biting at the corner of your lips. You chuckle as she wrinkles her nose, looking away with a smile and a roll of her eyes, and such a typical display of simply “her” makes the want within you roll in a delightful wave, low and powerful and heavy.
  9. 11. Bare In your dream, the pull she has on you is so slow, so powerful, it’s almost painful. It made you frown, time and time again, to have your body and your mind react so strongly – to find yourself so willing, so wanting, so fucking starving. It’s always been this same wave of desire, pushing and pulling relentlessly, stealing the breath from your lungs in an endless back and forth hitting the shore of your wants - pressing and biting and all too overwhelming - before it gets pulled away. Like a low, slow beat, she kisses you and devours your every moan as you stand there, in just a bra, skirt and heels. Her hands flutter at your bare hips, squeezing and releasing, thumbs moving across your skin in short bouts of discovery. You can feel it, by the way she moves her fingertips, the hitch to grab at the waistband of your skirt and pull it away from your body. There’s something impatient in the way her nose rubs at yours, as she changes the slant of her mouth, in the way she licks her lips - your lips, your tongue. There’s something soft and dirty about her every pliant curve, as you grab at her hips to pull her closer; something painful about finally feeling her. You let your hands drift lower and cup her ass, squeeze and pull and groan, anything you can do just tohave her closer to you. She drags the pad of her thumbs along the hollow of your hips and hooks both fingers into the waistband of your skirt. You stop breathing as soon as she starts pulling down, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel her nails lightly scratch at your skin with every millimeter she gains. You’re gonna lose your fucking mind yet there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. “This is it”, you think, as your skirt gets pushed below your hips to fall to the floor. Time stops. Your breathing’s ragged but you can’t hear it over hers. She exhales loudly as you once again pull her into you, and her hands find purchase at your hips once more, fingertips gliding onto naked skin, up and down and back again. You pull away from the kiss, biting at her lower lip, then trapping your own between your teeth as you step out of your discarded skirt. This is it.
  10. 10. Clothes Off and Worries Away In your dream, your stupid grin, stretching across her lips, makes you think about that time you first knew you were reaching the point of no return. When you found, for the first time, tendrils of fondness getting lost between the impulses and the desire. It wasn’t part of the plan – you never thought you could feel for her – and you hated that first stupid smile that curved the corner of your lips, you hated that first urge to just take a step forward and kiss her, not because she was being outwardly flirty but because she was being such an adorable dork. It shocked you into stillness, that first time, and you remember the angry soar of your heart when you refused to indulge. You look at it all with endearment, now, as you bite down on her bottom lip and pull, because a lot has happened since then, since you willingly crossed the point of no return. The hands at your ribs give a clenching, jerking movement as her thumbs reach the underside of your bra, your top still being pulled up and away from your body. Before she can go any higher, you put one hand on her wrist, and the other settles at the nape of her neck, pulling her into a kiss that makes you forget to smile, or think, or breathe. It’s not that you want her to stop, and you convey this affirmation by pulling her hand tighter against you so that she does not just touch, but grab you. You need to feel her, every second of her, every minute move and every twitch of her fingers on your skin. It’s an experience, it’s almost out of this world, to be surrounded by her perfume, to have her taste linger on your tongue and to feel her touch, purposeful yet hesitant. You just want her to, fuck, you just want so many things. You want her to explore and experience, you want her to enjoy this as much as she can; you want to make sure this is all really taking place, that this is all for real – her tightening her grip around your ribs for just a second before your hand falls away and you let her resume her journey. For a handful of seconds, you worry about the scars she’s exposing, as her hands follow the curve of your breasts until her fingertips are at your collarbones, but you choose not to worry. The scars are faint, subtle, and it just reminds you that there’s no judgment to be felt and that you should feel comfortable with your body just as much as she should with hers. You lift up your arms as if on auto-pilot and, just like your worries, your top is discarded.
  11. 9. Sex and Smiling In your dream, it’s simple and slow as it rolls off her tongue, that single word, but it still provokes a shiver of excitement to drip along your spine, makes the nape of your neck tingle. Her hands continue on their journey up your body, purposeful and slow, fingers splayed onto your skin as she takes her time feeling the shape of you. You brush your nose to hers and tease her lips with the tip of your tongue, suddenly much calmer than you mere minutes ago. The confirmation that she might be into this, into you (you still hear the echoes of her “yes”, bouncing around in your mind), settles the burning fire within you. You don’t have to worry that, the longer it takes, the more she might find something that she doesn’t like and call the whole thing off. You girls have time, 10 hours, and everything will be fine. “Good”, you whisper against her lips just before you kiss her, fighting a smile that just won’t go away, that you can feel slowly being mirrored by her. You’re pretty sure sex shouldn’t involve that much smiling, and it pulls at your lips even more, that you’d think something that silly right as you’re kissing this woman you spent so much time fantasizing about. Sex can be whatever you make it out to be, and she makes it hot, funny, dizzying and a little silly. You think you wouldn’t have it any other way.
  12. I’m glad you like it @Lindalu ;) I’m a sucker for a slow burn, so it gets hotter, but one slow step at a time
  13. 8. Fingers, Lips, Tongue and Teeth. In your dream, she doesn't look at you before she moves forward, slowly, and you have to look away, breathe in deeply, because you think you might dissolve into a puddle of want if you catch the sight of her. Your breath still catches in your throat as you feel her lips at the hollow of your hip, one chaste kiss being placed on your skin. It makes you shiver and look down. She traces a line along the waistband of your skirt with her lips, barely touching, 'til she reaches the other side and places another equally sort kiss onto your tattoo. She kisses slightly higher, then, and stills, nose touching taunt skin as she sucks in a shallow breath, and you wonder what she's thinking about. Is she nervous? Turned on? Is she trying to catch the scent of your skin, sweetness and warmth? As you are about to wonder if you should maybe say or do something, if she maybe just realized that she is totally NOT into this, the tip of her tongue darts out to lick from the waistband of your skirt and up along your hip, and you can't help the moan that escapes your throat. You want to pull her up, kiss her feverishly but you ball your fists and take a deep breath instead: You know it's part of her fantasy, to take her time exploring you, to map every inch of your body with fingers, lips and tongue. Oh, and teeth, you're promptly reminded as she bites just above your hip before trailing kisses below your navel. She nips and licks and kisses along your waistband, every touch making you twitch and squirm, and then she's moving up, from the hollow of your hip, along the line of muscles, up to your ribs. Her lips can't reach any higher, with your top in the way. So she nips at your rib, soothing the bite with a flick of her tongue, just before she gets back up. You're breathing heavily when your eyes meet and there's nothing you can do to stop yourself from moving forward, catching her lips into a bruising kiss. Your lungs protest as you kiss her, hard and slow, but you don't need to breathe so much as you NEED her. Every ounce of your willpower is either lost in the vast expanse of your arousal, or focused onto not losing your damn mind. "Later", you try to tell yourself, "you'll have plenty of time for hard and fast later". The impulse finally calms down as she slows the kiss to almost a stop and you breathe out with relief. Slow is good, slow is so fucking good it's driving you wild. You feel silly for being so much into it, for feeling so dizzy and wanting. So you let her drive the kiss, languid and deep, until she slides her lips over yours and then stills. "Is this doing it for you?" And you can HEAR the smile in her voice, teasing and satisfied, beneath the low burr of arousal. "If it was doing it for me any more than this, I'd literally catch fire." You're surprised at how low and husky your own voice is, hesitant around the words like you haven't spoken in years - your tone scratchy and breathless. She huffs a laugh against your lips, hands climbing higher up your ribs after she drops a chaste kiss onto your mouth. It takes half a second for your brain to catch up with you and, by the time you realize you want to ask, you're a little nervous about her answer. "Is it working for you?" Because, you don't know. Maybe you're too into it, maybe it isn't how she thought it would be. Maybe she doesn't like the way you kiss, or look, or feel, or... "Yes".
  14. Thank you. Can’t help but think it’s also how I’d describe the woman that inspired me ;)
  15. 7. Too Dizzy to Breathe In your dream, you distantly hear your shirt fall to the floor and realize that your hands are at her hips, clutching at pants and skin where your fingers slipped underneath her shirt. Her hands slowly move up your arms, fingertips dancing onto newly revealed skin and up to bare shoulders, stumbling over the thin straps of your bra and tank top and tracing both sides of your neck before getting lost in a curtain of blonde hair. You pull her closer yet again 'til you can feel her fully against you, breasts to breasts and hips to hips, your hands sliding to the small of her back. Her skin is so warm, so soft, everywhere you touch, and you get lost for a second, wanting to touch more, to feel more of her. Your hands roam over the expense of her back, climbing higher 'til her shirt is too taunt above your hands and prevents you from reaching the middle of her back. She sighs into your mouth as you let your fingers trace a path along her spine, slowly; moving down and wanting more. She pulls away from the kiss with a slow lick at your bottom lip, and her hands are at your shoulders once again, thumbs brushing against your collarbones. She pushes against you surreptitiously, making you move back slightly. When you open your eyes, your heart kinda skips a beat at the sight of her: Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, her hair tousled and a little messy, a subtle blush is blooming at her neck and climbing up her cheeks. But it's her eyes that really steal the breath from your lungs. They're dark, darker than you've ever seen them - their shade closer to a midnight blue than the light cerulean you've grown accustomed to. And they are still, deep, calm, although you can see it in her gaze, how hard she's thinking; eyes locked with yours as thoughts and hesitance rush through her mind. You take a step back when she pushes again, allowing her the room she needs to slide her hands down the front of your body. Every move is slow, full of purpose, and her eyes leave yours to follow the travel of her hands: Over your breasts, down your ribcage and your stomach all the way to your hips. Her eyes flick back to yours just for a second before both her hands slip beneath your top, fingers curling at your hips and slowly, ever so slowly, moving back up again. You watch her face as she watches her hands, fingers stilling at your waist as your lower stomach is revealed. She clutches at you and hesitates but, after a short, steadying breath, she kneels in front of you, hands still high enough that your top is bunched up just above your belly button. And the sight of her, like this, makes your head spin hard enough that, for a second, you're afraid you might lose your footing and stumble.