There's no resisting the invitation. He trails slow kisses up the center of her throat, from the hollow to lip over the jut of her chin. A gentle squeeze of hand, a slip of thick fingers over thin fabric rewards her offering to him in her arch.

He works more buttons free, a side lean onto his elbow giving him the access. Now he can push his hand deeper, a caress of ribs, a shove beneath her back to lift her to him with a brace between her shoulder blades. The house is quiet, emphasizing the more intimate sounds of skin on cloth, quickening breath, hers and his.

He rolls his shoulder beneath her hand. This, too, feels different, no pelt, no twitching skin, her touch firmer and more substantial to him now. He shifts to get his other hand beneath her head, encourage her back to his mouth for a much deeper kiss. His hips move against her in a few needy rocks, want growing but not yet to the tipping point of desperate hands or full ache for skin to skin. He's very much relishing the build.