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What’s on the table ?
*Senya* I had thought he would never ask, although considering the tight hold I have on his shirt, the manner in which my knuckles are turning white, I am surprised to find the cloth not yet shredded into pieces. His kiss hinders my ability to think, to reason. All I can do is feel the softness of his lips, the roughness of his tongue, the gentle abrading of his short whiskers against my skin. I might be red and a bit chapped in the morning, but I do not care. It all adds to the incredible sensations pouring through me. The way his gaze seems to darken and smolder as he watches me only adds depth, very much like an aria as it reaches its crescendo. I am not surprised to find my fingers shaking as they attack his buttons. I am trembling all over, but it is in a most pleasant way. His patien
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