Her body bows, back arching to send her up against him, against the hand that slides along her ribs and higher, sending a shiver rocketing through her system in response. It's like she's fevered now, hot and aching for more of him, of his touch, and her own breathing quickens in answer, soft, short puffs over his mouth as she tilts her head to the opposite side.

She doesn't need to see him, what his hands are doing; all she needs is to feel, feel something other than loss and fear and heartbreak, and this reminds her that she's fully capable of experiencing all the sensations she thought she'd pushed aside for good.

She breaks the kiss, but only briefly, to rise, arms crossing over her front to pull her camisole over her head, and then lowers herself again, letting her bare top half touch his fully.