He pressed into her touch with an arch of his back. He could feel the warmth of her hands through the fabric, could tell she was exploring him with fingertips. It was intoxicating, feeling and knowing it. His breath spilled hotly in a shuddering exhale.

She drew another small sound from him, voice in his gasp. He could feel more of her minus the layer of clothing and took advantage with hands and forearms pressed against her back in his embrace. He, too, was trying to control the natural inclination of his body to rock forward and up without much success. He tilted his head. What she was doing felt too good not to encourage.