[Hurt and anger and yearning spark though Clara at the rough contact, and she brings her free hand up to the curve of Sarah's neck as she kisses back. This is a bad idea - a very bad idea - but at the first scrape of nails on her scalp, she's done for. She sucks in a breath, dragging her teeth over Sarah's lip.
Her mouth tastes like wine, and her hair smells like smoke, and she's cold as ice, but everything else about Clara is soft, even behind her tightening fingers. She squirms, her cotton dress rucking up at the thighs as she tries to burrow harder against Sarah, until she can't see the fine hair and the smudged eyeliner, the lack of metal glinting at her nose.]
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Her mouth tastes like wine, and her hair smells like smoke, and she's cold as ice, but everything else about Clara is soft, even behind her tightening fingers. She squirms, her cotton dress rucking up at the thighs as she tries to burrow harder against Sarah, until she can't see the fine hair and the smudged eyeliner, the lack of metal glinting at her nose.]