She dips her head back, that same curtain spilling back over her shoulders when she exposes more of her neck to him, the curving angle of her jaw that disappears just underneath her ear. One or two deliberate presses of his lips there and she's bound to dissolve, but how could he know that? She marvels silently, lips parting in a quiet sigh when his mouth descends along the slope of her neck.

She's not looking for those details now, won't be hard-pressed to care about muscles here and there; all she wants under her hands now is skin, and she's prepared to do what she can in search of it, her palms skimming over his strong shoulders while her knuckles snag on the sides of his shirt to push it over and down his arms until the sleeves catch on the prominent bones of his wrists.

With that barrier gone, she tilts her head down, eyes flickering to his face seconds before she kisses him again, this one more insistent than the others, her fingertips ghosting over his chest, his abdomen, committing each expanse of skin to her memory through that touch alone.

She takes his face in her hands, thumbs tenderly tracing over his cheeks, and pours herself into the meeting of mouths, even as she lays back against the pillows, coaxing him down to her.