It's not difficult to tell that she's increasingly pleasured by the act, but the sudden snap of her thighs still catches him off-guard. Sweeney instinctively flexes his fingers, not trying to escape but straining against the clench of her muscles. It only takes a moment for him to sort things and continue to do it purposefully. Obviously, there's less room to move, but that doesn't stop him from making the most of what he has, rocking and wriggling to urge her to ride out her climax as long and as intensely as possible.

Sweeney can feel his prick throbbing as it shouts in protest; it should be the one enjoying the fruits of the labor. The ache makes him grit his teeth as he winces in Want. Just a little longer. Just a little. And he'll find his relief, whatever shape it takes.