Typical Dia, she can't help but laugh, to get caught up in a tirade even when she's topless...but she's all to eager to finally slip the hook through the metal clip. She looks like a kid about to open a present on Christmas morning as she finally, finally takes the bra right off and...
Ah. So this is what Dia's chest looks like. Sure, she's put her hands on her breasts enough times that she's memorized the contours of them through touch alone, fondled them from behind more times than she can count on everyone in Aqours's hands put together, but this is her first time actually laying eyes on them. She doesn't want to stare, honestly, and ruin the good streak she's been having, but she can't help herself. They're...well, there's no need to dance around the fact that they're beautiful, inviting as can be; modest, yes, but practically begging for her to put her hands on them, for her to kiss them until Dia makes those marvelous sounds again--
"They're perfect," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. She's actually engrossed in the sight of them, God help her, this part of Dia that she's never seen before until now. She's only dimly aware of her hands making a beeline to take them into her palms; she's practically hyperfocused as she leans down to take one into her mouth, to rub and clasp at one of them while she holds the other to her lips and roll over the tip of it with her tongue.
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Typical Dia, she can't help but laugh, to get caught up in a tirade even when she's topless...but she's all to eager to finally slip the hook through the metal clip. She looks like a kid about to open a present on Christmas morning as she finally, finally takes the bra right off and...
Ah. So this is what Dia's chest looks like. Sure, she's put her hands on her breasts enough times that she's memorized the contours of them through touch alone, fondled them from behind more times than she can count on everyone in Aqours's hands put together, but this is her first time actually laying eyes on them. She doesn't want to stare, honestly, and ruin the good streak she's been having, but she can't help herself. They're...well, there's no need to dance around the fact that they're beautiful, inviting as can be; modest, yes, but practically begging for her to put her hands on them, for her to kiss them until Dia makes those marvelous sounds again--
"They're perfect," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. She's actually engrossed in the sight of them, God help her, this part of Dia that she's never seen before until now. She's only dimly aware of her hands making a beeline to take them into her palms; she's practically hyperfocused as she leans down to take one into her mouth, to rub and clasp at one of them while she holds the other to her lips and roll over the tip of it with her tongue.