[ If she spots Mila, Ren will find her looking down at her phone with a grin, biting her lower lip before she looks up to find her. It takes a few seconds to decide to walk over, whisper something in the ear of the person who was meant to sit by Ren's side, who is easily convinced to switch seats with Henry Wright's daughter. Once that's taken care of and everyone's ready to be served, she beams at the other girl. ]
[ Oh, okay, this is hot. It feels like a naughty secret between them and Ren appreciates the little powerplay that Cellar does, eyebrow arching in amusement. ]
What can I say, you have real good taste. [ In women? Questionable. But in lingerie? Undoubtedly. ] I'm glad you came over. I was worried I was gonna have to spend all night sendin' you pictures under the table.
While I'd love that ... [ A glance around, mischief in the slight arch of a brow and small grin, two fingers touch and tap Ren's leg. ] Maybe you should leave the stuff under the table to me.
There's a slow smirk developing across Ren's face as she tries to decide if Mila's being serious or not. But, hey, what's the worst thing that can happen? ]
[ Sometimes, Mila thinks she's dreaming awake. She knows it's happening because it's always the same element that comes into play: dark shapes under her control, wrapping around Ren's leg as they snake upward, created by her own shadow projected on the floor, to start teasing her in all the places the girl by her side can't reach with just one hand. Or two, for that matter.
But there's no such thing, of course. Shadows can't be physical, let alone be controlled by a person. So Mila uses that one hand instead. Starting by moving the hem or slit of Ren's dress to find the edge of her thigh-highs, then up and between her legs. ]
[ And her hand on Ren's thigh is a very compelling motivation to say but the very least. There are other people at dinner, important people, people who know her family. All of that pales in importance compared to the feeling of Mila's fingers slipping through the slit in her skirt.
Her imagination, not usually this vivid, imagines touches beyond what Mila should be able to reach. Like phantoms of her desire. Ren suppresses a shiver as she parts her legs eagerly. ]
You going to make it hard for me? [ Please make it hard for her. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Glad you liked it.
no subject
What can I say, you have real good taste. [ In women? Questionable. But in lingerie? Undoubtedly. ] I'm glad you came over. I was worried I was gonna have to spend all night sendin' you pictures under the table.
no subject
no subject
There's a slow smirk developing across Ren's face as she tries to decide if Mila's being serious or not. But, hey, what's the worst thing that can happen? ]
I'm in your hands, love. Do your worst.
no subject
But there's no such thing, of course. Shadows can't be physical, let alone be controlled by a person. So Mila uses that one hand instead. Starting by moving the hem or slit of Ren's dress to find the edge of her thigh-highs, then up and between her legs. ]
How good's your poker face?
no subject
[ And her hand on Ren's thigh is a very compelling motivation to say but the very least. There are other people at dinner, important people, people who know her family. All of that pales in importance compared to the feeling of Mila's fingers slipping through the slit in her skirt.
Her imagination, not usually this vivid, imagines touches beyond what Mila should be able to reach. Like phantoms of her desire. Ren suppresses a shiver as she parts her legs eagerly. ]
You going to make it hard for me? [ Please make it hard for her. ]