"You're a treasure." He kisses her on the cheek.

"You did spend obscene amounts of money on me," she points out with a watery giggle.

"And you were worth all of it."

Snort.

"Thanks." Snuggle. "Okay so, not breaking the skin would be fine regularly, with occasional exceptions for when I'm not feeling particularly masochistic and just want something loving. That is for when we don't want me to be very coherent."

"I like you when you're not very coherent." He kisses her forehead. "Later. When we've - got more practice."

Nuzzle.

"Yeah. We're supposed to be attempting to resemble taking it slow. That would not be doing that thing." She shivers again. That sure is an assessing look she's giving him.

Snuggle. "Mm, and what do you want to do right now?"

It would be bad form, communication wise, to just pounce on him and kiss him. She will not do that. They need to have good communication, it's really important.

"I want to get in a bit more practice," she murmurs. "Your nails digging into your mark on my wrist, your teeth on my neck. And then I want to do something very forward and ask you to fuck me."

He smiles.

"What do you want to do?"

"I like your plan. Your plan sounds good."

"Okay. We can do that, then." She decides that she'd like to be kissing his neck, so she does that. Her other sleeve can also be pulled down for easier mark access. That seems like the thing to do.

He snuggles her and pets her and wraps his hand around her wrist and squeezes gently, not quite hard enough to set off the warning tingle - no, there it goes.

Her breath catches in her throat at the warning tingle, and she squirms a little in his lap. She doesn't stop what she's doing, though, his neck is going to get as many kisses as she can manage before he begins.

Snuggle. Snuggle snuggle.

He digs his thumbnail into the mark and holds it for a second before letting go.

This incites a high pitched and squeaky whimper, directed into his neck. After he lets go, she shivers, giving herself a moment to breathe and blink back tears. Then with a quieter whimper, she resumes what she'd been doing before.

He tangles a hand in her hair and gently tugs her face away from his neck so he can kiss her properly.

Ooo. She inhales sharply at the relocation, docilely letting him pull her away, then kisses him with significant enthusiasm.

Mmm. Yes good.

So good! She's shivery and enthusiastic about all of this. He can even have the quiet sounds again, he must be so proud.

He is proud, yes, among other things.

He pauses in kissing her and shifts his grip on her wrist and tightens his hand in her hair and digs his nails into that mark again.

This time, she has time to realize what he's about to do just before the pain comes, and stiffens in anticipation and almost-fear. Then it hits, washing down her wrist in a wave of agony, and she makes a sound that resembles a high pitched moan. She doesn't struggle, but she does squirm in his grip again.

He lets go of her wrist, watching her face.

She runs through a number of expressions after he lets up on her mark. They are not the expressions of an unhappy woman. Her face scrunches up in anticipation of more pain that doesn't come, softens to something a bit more obviously into it, then she runs through several microexpressions as she retakes stock of her current circumstances from where she left off. Tears leak from her eyes as she opens them to look around.

When she looks at him, it's vulnerability and longing and a hint of something like fear, of this person that can so easily wreck her.

He smiles adoringly at her.