Excuses, Excuses No matter when he did it, or what state of mind she was in, there was always a kiss

Excuses, Excuses No matter when he did it, or what state of mind she was in, there was always a kiss waiting for him the instant he covered her mouth with his hand. Soft, quick against his palm, it was just the one before she’d slip into mute attention at the press of his fingertips against her cheek, the heel of his hand against her jaw.  He always thought that her eyes were a little more alive like this, the same way hearing becomes sharper when you’re deprived of sight. They were more vivid, sharper, the colours of her iris jumping out of him in shades he hadn’t ever seen before. Blue was shot through with flecks of orange, and inside those there was the glint of gold. Everything but those eyes was still, but they moved; flickering from his smile to his stare, down his chest towards… He stifled a laugh. “Why is it that you always seem most interested when you’re deprived the ability to speak, or see? I swear every time I blindfold you you become the chattiest thing on the planet, and when you’re gagged..” He pressed down with his fingertips, emphasising the point. “It’s almost like your ears become radar dishes, swiveling to whereever the sound is coming from.” He left the silence open, as if expecting her to attempt some sort of reply through his hand, but instead he just felt the shifting of her lips underneath his hand, stretched into a smile. It was hard not to roll his eyes, but even if he did, it was accompanied by a smile of his own. “Quite.” He murmured, before moving his other hand southwards, cupping her sex with the same assured nonchalance that he’d covered her mouth. He equaled the pressure, too, until his fingertips were digging into both, one slightly more pointedly than another. “And then there’s all this silence for me to fill. It’s a wonder I don’t just start proselytising on the spot.” He smiled, pushing that finger down a little harder. “Captive audience and all that.” His cuff was getting in the way, dangling against his wrist and making her squirm a little too much, the tickle of the fabric creating an effect he wasn’t quite after. He frowned, realising that it was the hand at her mouth that he’d need to pull it back up to his elbow, but that was the hand he could sacrifice, not right now. All the control was in that hand; it was what was holding her down, her silence why she was so docile, beautifully reticent, at the moment.  But there were other ways to keep a girl quiet. He leant down, brushing the light dusting of stubble on his cheek against her ear, the upper part of her neck. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” He murmured, licking his lips, tasting the cracks. He could feel her mouth move underneath his palm and he shifted his grip slightly, giving her a little more space.  The first syllable burst into the room like a flock of birds being disturbed, an enthusiastic “Well” before it was drowned, strangled, put out of its misery. He enveloped her mouth with his, forcing his tongue into her mouth and sliding his hand down her body, keeping the pressure against her skin the whole way. He kissed her abruptly, quickly, without any attempt to make it a collaboration. This was a ransom demand, shoved in a bottle and hurled down her throat. This was an excuse to adjust one’s garb.  He had his sleeve up to his elbow before he broke the kiss, before he returned his hand to her mouth, before he made her silent with his palm again. Sitting back up, he shrugged, smiling. “Well, quite."  -- source link

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