[The second her fingers run through Natsuno's hair, he practically melts into the touch, sighing softly. He can do without the good boy, but it feels so nice he's not about to complain. A warm, tingling sensation that has nothing to do with the wine spreads from the roots of his hair down to his neck, his chest. Did Rita feel it when he stroked her hair? He hopes she did.]
That's nice, [He murmurs.] Can you keep doing that?
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That's nice, [He murmurs.] Can you keep doing that?