"I'll do my best," she promises with a breathless chuckle as Eskel shifts beneath her so he can curl up and press his mouth to her skin.
Shivering a little, something embarrassingly close to a mewl caught in her throat, she threads her fingers through his hair and tugs on it gently as she shifts in his lap.
"You can leave a mark," she murmurs, sounding rather distracted. "I don't mind." She certainly has enough of them on her body, though perhaps not quite so many as he. From the messy scar at the join of her neck and shoulder from that lucky arrow shaft, to a myriad cuts and gashes across her forearms and her thighs, to one particularly nasty scar that bites through her side, following the line of her hip down to her buttock that had taken months to heal from. Éomer's body is a testament to her profession; she is no gentle hothouse flower of womanhood.
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Date: 2020-09-03 03:38 am (UTC)Shivering a little, something embarrassingly close to a mewl caught in her throat, she threads her fingers through his hair and tugs on it gently as she shifts in his lap.
"You can leave a mark," she murmurs, sounding rather distracted. "I don't mind." She certainly has enough of them on her body, though perhaps not quite so many as he. From the messy scar at the join of her neck and shoulder from that lucky arrow shaft, to a myriad cuts and gashes across her forearms and her thighs, to one particularly nasty scar that bites through her side, following the line of her hip down to her buttock that had taken months to heal from. Éomer's body is a testament to her profession; she is no gentle hothouse flower of womanhood.