Her eyes flutter shut, and despite all the nerves and yes the implication of the whole thing, it feels good. Not in a rushing, sudden way, but in a slow, ebbing sort of way, made in contrasts. His touch is warm, so warm, as he manipulates her legs where and when he wants them. But the cloth is cool. A pleasant, familiar sort of tickling as he brushes her more carefully than even her maids might.

But as he goes higher, her eyes crack open, feeling the thump in her throat. Maybe this was a mistake. She didn't think just a clothe could feel so... so... when used this way.

Then he stops, and she isn't sure if she wanted him too, and an ebb of frustration crawls up her throat, making a soft little murmur of cut short wanting in her throat. But there was naught she could do, her leg trapped as he pleased. Her eyes watched his face, clear and bright, anticipation building in her throat.