[Evelyn hums contemplatively, lifting her chin to accommodate his kisses and mulling over the accusation that - God forbid - she actually like him. (She does.) There's something wholeheartedly delightful about the chuckle she wrests from him; at least, there is until his hands find purchase at her sides, eliciting a most violent reaction.
She executes what could only be described as "a close-mouthed squeak," starting with a jerk and immediately flailing to pry his fingers away from her waist.]
No-! [Evelyn exclaims with a desperate giggle, writhing and batting at Booker's grasp.] Do not-
no subject
She executes what could only be described as "a close-mouthed squeak," starting with a jerk and immediately flailing to pry his fingers away from her waist.]
No-! [Evelyn exclaims with a desperate giggle, writhing and batting at Booker's grasp.] Do not-
[Yeah, not even. Gonna. Finish that sentence.]