<strong>Emily Fitzgerald</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>: The apartment, her shower ((Age 18, 2010 continuity, active story))<br/><strong>Tag</strong>: John<br/><hr/>Emily laughs softly at that.  "Oh, christ John, you say the funniest things sometimes..." she kisses him once more, breaking reluctantly away and on careful steps as her wobbly knees, combined with the slickness of the tub, threaten to send her careening to the tile in what would be, certainly, a memorable and quick finish to their first time together.<br/><br/>She watches him, unabashed, a flush of arousal and heat from the shower spreading over the tops of her breasts where the freckles fade.  The valves squeak closed and the water is silenced, except for the staccato pattering of what's left on their bodies as the curtain parts with a light hiss of metal rings on rail.  She snags a towel from its hook on the door, steam filling the room in a rush, and rubs herself vigorously where she stands on the mat, an inch lower down from the tub as she hands the damp terrycloth to John wordlessly.  A coy smile lingers as she backs a half step away, and she folds one arm over her full breasts, her fingers dimpling the flesh as her other folds demurely over the small triangle of her gingery pubis-- she's still damp, clearly not risking delay, as she watches John emerge after her.<br/><br/>With a moment's delay, she reaches for him, urging him upon her again, with full, wet kisses that play at his lips and tongue eagerly, and drawing him into her room where a simple, hand-stitched quilt lies rumpled on the mattress.