It is, oddly enough, Eirene's turn to be nervous. The frantic beating of her heart against it's ribcage, pulse fluttering wildly at her throat, is reminiscent of the first few times they kissed. When she wasn't sure a big, kind farmboy was going to want to have anything to do with a naive goddess.

First contact of flesh, her soft curves against his muscled chest is a shock, her moan tumbling into his mouth instinctively. Fingers tighten against his shouders before sliding down across the expanse of his back.

Then, a hesitant withdrawal of barriers, ones she has only dropped once before, the most notable sign of which is the subtle aroma of roses and raindrops.