"I'm glad it pleases you," Sol said, watching the way her throat moved as she swallowed. He reached out, wiping away a smear of oil from her chin with his thumb, lingering for a moment on her lower lip. The skin was incredibly soft, and moist.
He did that because he knew people in this era didn't mind stuff like this.
Evara sighed, leaning into his touch, closing her eyes to savor the contact. But then, a shadow crossed her face. She winced, rolling her neck with a small grimace of pain, her hand reaching up to rub at her shoulder blade.
"Ah... damn this weaving," she complained softly, the pleasure momentarily forgotten.
"Pain?" Sol asked with concern, withdrawing his hand.
"My shoulders," she muttered, kneading the muscle. "They get stiff as old wood after sitting and working all day. Being alone means doing everything yourself… gathering, weaving, fixing the roof. It can take a toll." She let out a tired laugh. "Sometimes I feel like a young woman in an old body."
