Good. Good good. She isn't hurting, and she's slick and a bit stretched. That's halfway there, right? Of course, halfway is no finish line.

Kisses are easy to come by, and he gives her them freely. Sweeney tries to let her set the pace, but when she pulls him closer, he has to relinquish his grip to lean over her. It takes a force of will not to crawl all the way on top of her and bury deep. That would almost certainly spoil the progress made. Sweeney needs something else; it's just that he's not thinking all that clearly, and that makes brainstorming a challenge.

He compromises by nestling a knee between her hers so he's left straddling her thigh. The taunting grazes against her soft skin only make the aching worse, and instinctively, he starts to rock rhythmically as they kiss, chasing more pressure that seems ever out of reach. Instead, it just makes a sticky mess of her leg.

Sweeney finally has to part, his breath short as he forces a swallow. A flicker of an idea has taken root, and he shifts his weight hurriedly so he can grab at her wrist.

"Touch," he whispers, trying to tug her hand between them.

"Please."