Nathanaël was sweet, innocent and untainted. Every action, cautious, taking every single outcome into consideration. So, what had prompted his actions? It had started with a kiss, his finger gently tracing along the delicate line of her jaw, mesmerized by the perfect, little smile spreading across painted lips of ruby. An innocent kiss, one of which she had returned with earnest fervor. Just what exactly had encouraged her to continue the tender affection. Dainty fingertips settled on his cheek, gliding along to rest behind the base of his skull. He's daring, for once, as he pulls her to settle on his lap, never once allowing the contact to break as his hand tangles in curls of midnight black.
His opposite hand falls against the small of her back, pulling her close so not an inch of space separated their heated bodies. Fingertips hesitantly rise beneath the sheer fabric of her blouse, following the gentle slope of her spine, encouraged by shiver which courses through her frame. He's intoxicated by the warmth of creamy, porcelain skin, taking in every curve and swallowing every breathless mention of his name. She's but a work of art, the personification of beauty in the way light captures the facade of fragility as she tilts her head to the left. A new, untainted canvas to explore as his lips fall victim to the sweet scent of strawberry and baked goods permanently embedded in Marinette's flesh. Briefly, he wonders if the goddess Aphrodite had blessed him with miracle and brought his painting to life, because how could he have been so fortunate?
All thoughts are wiped clean as Marinette claims his lips once more, sealing the space separating them fiercely. Her hands rise to claim his neck, allowing entrance as the artist's slick tongue begs by gliding across the plush of her lower lip. But, just like that, it's ripped right from his very grasp as she separates herself, her chest rising and falling against his, an ocean of blue lidded with desire. The designer's freckled complexion colors a modest shade of crimson as she begins removing herself from their intimate position. He doesn't shift, or stop her by winding strong arms along the line of her waist as she had expected him to. Nevertheless, she smiles, adjusting her blouse before stealing one last kiss from the colored red head. If he really wanted it, he would have to ask for more.
