[he pressed against her, but his lips don't stay on her lips-- he starts kissing along the lines of her neck. his hand drops to her shirtline, to start pulling it up.]
[ she makes a soft whine in the back of her throat, and just pulls his shirt up to slide her hands over his back, thumbs running around the line of his waistband. ]
Not—hh, not yet—I'm still... not that far into the fiction section, but.
[ everyone needs shirts off now. one shirt is too many, so she's attempting to pull his off, too, all the while rolling her hips a little to grind against him. ]
He's an author... most famous for "Count of Monte Cristo..."
[he needs to catch his breath for a moment. a hand moves from one of her breasts, and starts to undo the buttons for his pants. his other thumb presses against her nipples.]
A man's framed for a crime he didn't commit... By his best friend...
[back to kissing her desperately, actually, letting his words come between kisses, as his hands slid down her bare midrift, past the pants she's starting to unbutton]
[ free of the pants, she hooks one leg around the back of his knees, for a better angle, kissing him sloppily and returning to running her hands up and down his bare back. ]
F, fourteen years, so—ye gods, what did his terrible friend even, ah, do...
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Keeps happening...
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[ she doesn't resist him tugging at her shirt, and leans into the kisses; her own fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. ]
...a lot more engaging than my book summaries, huh.
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[his teeth bite at her neck and the shirt slides up. his hands move to press against her breasts.]
I like reading.
[there's a clanking sound in the distance but he's focused on her]
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...well. Nn, maybe... later.
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You ever read Alexander Dumas....?
[his knee slides up, between her legs, as they talk, and he pulls back enough to just fully remove her shirt]
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[ everyone needs shirts off now. one shirt is too many, so she's attempting to pull his off, too, all the while rolling her hips a little to grind against him. ]
Tell me about it...?
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He's an author... most famous for "Count of Monte Cristo..."
[he needs to catch his breath for a moment. a hand moves from one of her breasts, and starts to undo the buttons for his pants. his other thumb presses against her nipples.]
Probably not familiar...
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[ she presses into his touch, back arching a little bit, and drops her hands to loosen her own pants. ]
What's it about.
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[back to kissing her desperately, actually, letting his words come between kisses, as his hands slid down her bare midrift, past the pants she's starting to unbutton]
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So, ah—to clear his name, or...?
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[if she's shimmying out, he's definitely getting handsy, sliding a hand across her labia, thumb pressing along her clit]
He went to jail for... 14 years, actually.
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[ free of the pants, she hooks one leg around the back of his knees, for a better angle, kissing him sloppily and returning to running her hands up and down his bare back. ]
F, fourteen years, so—ye gods, what did his terrible friend even, ah, do...