[That's good. He hisses at the teeth against his neck, far more into the possibility of pain than he'll ever admit. She's underneath him, beautiful as can be, and he's intoxicated.]
[His mind brushes over the fact that, in this house, there's a sink with robes he was washing blood out of. He killed a man, before he brought Kate here. And he, honestly, doesn't care. It spurs him on, gives him a morbid feeling of delight that he's here, alive, ready to make love to a girl he's adored for so long.]
[He's pressing his hips against her now, already clearly aroused judging by the slight bulge in his pants. Steinbeck moves a hand up around her breast, rubbing against her nipple in slow, gentle circles.]
no subject
[His mind brushes over the fact that, in this house, there's a sink with robes he was washing blood out of. He killed a man, before he brought Kate here. And he, honestly, doesn't care. It spurs him on, gives him a morbid feeling of delight that he's here, alive, ready to make love to a girl he's adored for so long.]
[He's pressing his hips against her now, already clearly aroused judging by the slight bulge in his pants. Steinbeck moves a hand up around her breast, rubbing against her nipple in slow, gentle circles.]