For all his vaulted senses, the supposed superiority of his hearing et cetera, when Ninon speaks to him, it takes him quite a long time to respond, struck dumb as he is by the sight of her pressing those long, slender fingers inside herself.
This is very different than how it had seemed in his textbooks.
Finally, her words pierce the fog blanketing his mind, and he shakes himself a little, swallowing audibly before tearing his eyes away from her fingers and instead looking up at her face. She has a point. Ninon isn't wearing a stitch, and yet Benedict has only taken off his jacket. His saber is still bumping against his leg.
Nodding dumbly, he flexes his hands and then shifts to rectify the situation for her, undoing his belt with slightly clumsy fingers, peeling it away from his hips and letting it and the sword attached fall to the floor beside the bed before lifting his hands to the polished buttons that trip down the length of his chest on his waistcoat.
no subject
This is very different than how it had seemed in his textbooks.
Finally, her words pierce the fog blanketing his mind, and he shakes himself a little, swallowing audibly before tearing his eyes away from her fingers and instead looking up at her face. She has a point. Ninon isn't wearing a stitch, and yet Benedict has only taken off his jacket. His saber is still bumping against his leg.
Nodding dumbly, he flexes his hands and then shifts to rectify the situation for her, undoing his belt with slightly clumsy fingers, peeling it away from his hips and letting it and the sword attached fall to the floor beside the bed before lifting his hands to the polished buttons that trip down the length of his chest on his waistcoat.