[There's a lot he could reply to, wants to say verbally. Or at all. Talking is what Quentin does, and nobody shuts him up.
Except apparently Sophie with her hand in his pants and her lips on his, which shuts up his brain too, at least to some extent. He moans into her mouth, his hips jerking reflexively into her hand. He assumes that's plenty encouragement for her to continue and doesn't bother trying to verbalize his feelings on the matter. Besides, she has open access to his brain, and this time he actually highlights for her what he likes—how precisely to stroke him, the sensitive places on his chest and neck that haven't been ruined by baggage, how he wants to be kissed.
And most importantly? The control he needs to feel. Not necessarily over her but of his own body. What he gave up before for someone he thought was the love of his life. Sophie decidedly isn't that, but she's done a great job at feeding his newly acquired craving to take instead of just give. As long as she keeps making him feel sexy for being bossy? She can do just about whatever the hell she wants as far as he's concerned. Within reason.
... Or, you know, he may just have a praise kink and some trauma. Whichever.
He holds the back of her neck and deepens the kiss, demanding in contrast to the way after the initial reaction his hips only gently rock against her hand. She offered to do most of the work, after all. To make him feel good. Which means he's not doing her the favor of thrusting into her hand just yet. Nope, she gets to work him up on her own, work them both up, honestly. And then eventually they'll reach a breaking point, and he'll push her down, press his chest to her back, or maybe sling her legs over his shoulders, or any number of other equally satisfying positions. Either way they're fucking the living daylights out of each other for the second time today.]
no subject
Except apparently Sophie with her hand in his pants and her lips on his, which shuts up his brain too, at least to some extent. He moans into her mouth, his hips jerking reflexively into her hand. He assumes that's plenty encouragement for her to continue and doesn't bother trying to verbalize his feelings on the matter. Besides, she has open access to his brain, and this time he actually highlights for her what he likes—how precisely to stroke him, the sensitive places on his chest and neck that haven't been ruined by baggage, how he wants to be kissed.
And most importantly? The control he needs to feel. Not necessarily over her but of his own body. What he gave up before for someone he thought was the love of his life. Sophie decidedly isn't that, but she's done a great job at feeding his newly acquired craving to take instead of just give. As long as she keeps making him feel sexy for being bossy? She can do just about whatever the hell she wants as far as he's concerned. Within reason.
... Or, you know, he may just have a praise kink and some trauma. Whichever.
He holds the back of her neck and deepens the kiss, demanding in contrast to the way after the initial reaction his hips only gently rock against her hand. She offered to do most of the work, after all. To make him feel good. Which means he's not doing her the favor of thrusting into her hand just yet. Nope, she gets to work him up on her own, work them both up, honestly. And then eventually they'll reach a breaking point, and he'll push her down, press his chest to her back, or maybe sling her legs over his shoulders, or any number of other equally satisfying positions. Either way they're fucking the living daylights out of each other for the second time today.]