She aches in the best way. It makes her turn toward his chest to rub her nose against his skin, to kiss where she can reach. She loves it--the burn in her muscles and the shaking release of tension--and she wants it as much as possible.

Alice props herself up against his chest, laughing at the disarray of pillows and blankets and broken bed under them. "Oh, they'll definitely take this out of our winnings."

There's no heat in it though, she's far too busy straightening her underwear out, fixing the garters that popped off her stockings, rolling the nylon back up her thigh to fasten them in place. She has things to do--after all, she promised a kiss upon each scar.

Alice swings her leg over him, sitting herself on his stomach so she can gently tilt his head to the side, allowing her access to the myriad of criss-crossed crescent mooned marks on his neck, humming as she presses kisses against each one she finds.