She’s so open to him now, the thread of curses intrudes like a slash of lightning. But then he’s kissing her again, muffling any words she might form. The weight and warmth of his body soon drives it from her mind; she slips her hands under his loose shirt and delights in the flesh she finds there. She counts each rib, moving upward to find the tense muscles of his shoulders.
A gasp escaped him as her hand delved under his shirt, her fingers tracing against his burning chest but to him, her touch felt like someone had allowed ice to run down his torso. After a moment he moved his lips back down to her neck, pushing the material down as he kissed over her torso gently, glancing back up at her for a second, casting her a look of questioning.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “I told you, I want this. I want /you/.” She pulls at his shirt, dragging it over his head, then scrapes her nails down his chest. “Please.” By dint of some writhing, including a lot of arching of her body against his, she frees one arm from her dress.