Hollow
She can tell that he's distracted tonight.
Not for any lack of effort on her part. She's thrown everything at him she can think of: skimpy white satin, inviting smiles, suggestions whispered into his ear that she'll be in the bedroom if he wants her.
His reply: okay, babe, I'll be up in a while. I'll try not to wake you when I come in.
With a sigh, she climbs abruptly out of his lap.
I thought you might like to join me, she tosses back over her shoulder, trying very hard not to display annoyance or disappointment, but it's alright; you're busy.
And he finally gets it.
Yeah...yeah, okay, I'll be right there.
But he still seems distracted. His tongue parts her lips and his hands trace the slight curve of her waist as skilfully as always, but there's something about it that feels mechanical.
Until his mouth brushes the hollow at the base of her throat, and a strong shudder runs through her, nerve endings seeming to leap immediately to life all over her body, and she gasps sharply and pulls him closer. And if his tightening grip at her hair and at her breast, his ragged breathing against her ear, and the sound of ripping satin are any indication, he's not so distracted anymore.