There's a smile wreathed on his mouth. "Okay, you got me. I'm not. Not one bit."
He trails along after her, following the line of Allison's hand and arm, the bend of her elbow as she pulls him further up onto the bed. There's a muddle of sheets and blankets and pillows underneath them — a stuffed rabbit trapped somewhere under his knee, one of Claire's, which Luther finds, extricates, and then moves it gingerly to the floor — before he leans back down to kiss her again. One elbow is still holding himself up, while the hand on her stomach starts to wander: he finds the arch of Allison's thigh where she's hooked it against his legs, slides upwards and follows the dipping curve of her side, the small of her back, before his thumb slips beneath the hem of her shirt and traces a line across her hip.
It's the smallest first encroachment beneath their clothes, the raging-hot warmth of bare skin blazing beneath his touch. One inch of Allison Hargreeves' hip beneath his fingers is going to kill him. This is going to be the death of him.
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He trails along after her, following the line of Allison's hand and arm, the bend of her elbow as she pulls him further up onto the bed. There's a muddle of sheets and blankets and pillows underneath them — a stuffed rabbit trapped somewhere under his knee, one of Claire's, which Luther finds, extricates, and then moves it gingerly to the floor — before he leans back down to kiss her again. One elbow is still holding himself up, while the hand on her stomach starts to wander: he finds the arch of Allison's thigh where she's hooked it against his legs, slides upwards and follows the dipping curve of her side, the small of her back, before his thumb slips beneath the hem of her shirt and traces a line across her hip.
It's the smallest first encroachment beneath their clothes, the raging-hot warmth of bare skin blazing beneath his touch. One inch of Allison Hargreeves' hip beneath his fingers is going to kill him. This is going to be the death of him.