Her fingers slip on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with them as she desperately tries to get the fabric off him and not stop kissing him at the same time.

She's easily distracted by the feel of his hands on her breasts, the shape of his lips against hers; Alice pauses on button number three so she can cup his face and kiss him back with fervor, lick her way into his mouth.

It takes a long moment before she remembers her plan, and begins fumbling at the buttons again, finally, finally getting them undone so she can push the shirt off his shoulders. So she can finally press herself against his skin.