My voice is soft, fond, as I snicker quietly, as I unbutton his cuffs, unbutton his shirt, starting at the waist, moving up one by one until all the buttons are opened and his breastbone and hard stomach are revealed. Palms flat, my touch as warm as my gaze, I stroke my hands across his skin, drawing idle patterns, gliding up to his shoulders.

I push the shirt off, smirking, letting it fall to his wrists, baring his nape and shoulders and arms and chest, lightly binding his arms with its inconvenient folds.

"Let me take your mind off your wrist," I purr against the shell of his ear, lips barely brushing its curves.