Prompt: A kiss on the; hips (#11/25)
Setting: Storybrooke
That curve simply begged for his attention. Black fabric pulled tight across it pulled his gaze even tighter to her. And she knew it.
You're too easy, Jefferson.
Whether she said it, or if he was merely telling himself, he didn't know. Or care. And why would he when she was so intent on swaying this way and that even in the most mundane of activities. Her walk was like a mating call, calling him to crawl after her and it was too. damn. easy. for him to fall for it. And she knew it.
These were not the hips of a commoner, not even a noblewoman — no, these were the hips of a Queen. And they deserved to be treated as such. Gripped and grinded back as royalty should be. At least her sort of royalty that is. She'd never fit the typical cast, and he'd never wanted her to. He enjoyed the way she'd learned to use her body — a walk that could kill; a sway so positively murderous that sometimes he was left to wonder if he really made it out alive. But within a grab of curvaceous flesh it was clear that he lived to die again.
The zip on her skirt gives way easily but the material doesn't move an inch. It insists that he peel it off of her if he wants what lies beneath. Fingers dip just into the hem, dragging it down achingly slow. An ache for each of them, when now he knows just what she hopes to get from him.
When the garment puddles at her feet he is on his knees just in front of her. An all too loyal dog. But he just can't seem to help himself. It is a give and a take and he must give if he expects to take all he wants of her. Piece by glistening piece.
She is taller for the heels still left on her feet, leaving him nearly level with the meeting place of her thighs — higher, if he chooses to strain up. And he does. Blue eyes are all but blown out already, his expression one of absolute desire for the woman stood before him.
He sits up as tall as the posture allows him, lips coming into contact with the fleshy spot just below her hipbone. Teeth taking in the strip of fabric there only to let go just as quickly, snapping it back against her so he can then soothe the sting.
An impatient hand threads in to his hair, pulling him closer until he gathers her closer still, nearly robbing her of her balance as he presses another kiss a little higher. Yes that curve had called for his touch, called him to clamor for it, to work for such a common feature that somehow on her, was not common to him in the least. Much like every other regal bend and bow that she possessed.
And she knew it.