Dinner? Bold of Ignis to assume she was aware of anything in the kitchen beyond him. Well, him and the large number of flat surfaces they could take advantage of.

Her nails dug into his back as his mouth claimed her throat, her head lolling backwards as pain-sharpened pleasure unfurled through her bloodstream. Silky black hair fell down her back and brushed against his arms. A moment later, she started to pull at the fabric of his shirt, trying to gather it up into her hands. Skin. She wanted to feel his skin beneath her palms, against her lips, between her thighs. "The kind that linger," she continued in a whisper, barely aware that she was speaking, never mind what she was saying. "So I can feel you for days."