[ She doesn't laugh, but her warm, exasperated smile is smothered by the kiss she so readily falls into again. Her fingers lock around his, squeezing (gentle and reassuring), before tightening with a muffled gasp when that attention returns once more to her breasts. What she likes is practically telegraphed through her grip on Peter's hand, flexing and releasing based on what he does with his talented fingers. Deeper pressure, that sharper pinch, makes her arch just so, clinging lightly to Peter's hand as that one crooked leg presses her knee to his hip. She's vividly aware of each point of contact, fire licking in her belly in anticipation.
She doesn't break from the kiss entirely, but she eases out enough to pant faintly against Peter's lips, catching the curve of his mouth when she wets her own with her tongue. ]
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She doesn't break from the kiss entirely, but she eases out enough to pant faintly against Peter's lips, catching the curve of his mouth when she wets her own with her tongue. ]