вєиє∂ιςт ѕσяєℓℓιи-ℓαиςαѕтєя

She had said she was going to touch herself. Benedict remains kneeling over her, one hand on her belly and the other resting on his own thigh, watching keenly as she slides her own hand up the length of her body, settling with cupping her breast. She can be certain that he is mentally taking notes of this experience, so that when he touches her of his own volition, he will know what he's doing and what it is she likes.