Amber closed her hands over his forearms, smiling softly, glowing. This was perfect. Exactly how she'd wanted it-- well, not exactly, there had been some missteps. But they'd worked their way around them, Eric picking up on her cues when she wasn't content and changing his actions accordingly. Amber felt good. Safe. She sighed and rubbed her cheek back at the parts of him she could reach that way, each and every one of her senses humming with satisfaction. Amber was floating, lying on her very own cloud nine. All she wanted now was to find a soft surface and be there with him, languorously kissing and touching and smiling at each other.

Amber noticed the sharpness of his movement, wondered at it even through the haze of her afterglow. And then Eric wasn't there, and she missed him at once, the air nowhere near as satisfying as his warm torso. Amber stood up, wincing slightly at the ache that had crept into her lower back without her noticing, and turned towards him, brushing away the strands of hair that where still plastered to her forehead and neck. And then he asked that question. She heard his anger, caught the glower even in the near-darkness.

No. No. Amber blinked, her hands clasping quickly over her abdomen. Not now, why now, when everything was working out so well. "No," Amber whispered, vehemently. "Don't-- It was perfect." She reached up, cupping his cheek. Smirked wanly. "I'll deny it on my grandmother's grave if you tell anyone, but, actually, it was pretty hot." Amber took in a deep breath; god, she only wanted to kiss him, to make him not get caught up in this, to misunderstand what had only been amusement and embarrassment. And maybe it was the endorphins, but Amber let herself do so, refusing to be as paranoid about his reactions as she had recently been. Softly, like a butterfly landing on a petal, Amber brushed his lips with hers. What she wanted tonight, she got—that was the deal. And she’d decided he couldn’t get pissed at her over a few words. She simply wouldn’t have it.