( there's a small moan against his lips as his thigh presses between her legs, her legs parting just a bit wider for him in return. he really is good at this, sara thinks as she kisses him, fingers of her free hand ghosting through his short hair as though it might offer more stability for her; his hands run all over her body, leave her occasionally squirming needily depending on where he touches — her breasts, her collarbone, down along the carved v of her hip bones.
she murmurs against the corner of his mouth, short and to the point, ) What's on your mind, Leonard?
no subject
she murmurs against the corner of his mouth, short and to the point, ) What's on your mind, Leonard?