He startles a touch when she embraces the notion so full-heartedly, and Sweeney isn't going to pause to second-guess. He withdraws enough to adjust his position and slick up a second finger before carefully nudging to press back into her. It's easier than he'd expected, which is nice. The whole goal is to minimize the pain and make things pleasant. That purposeful logic is quickly diverted when she grows eager.

What in the sweet fucking hell? The surprise is obvious in the widening of his eyes when she takes to writhing, but it's the best kind of unexpected. Sweeney just tries to keep up; putting his hand at the best angle for friction and depth. The way she moves, he can't resist thrusting, at least a little.

Gods, he wants to be inside her, buried until she's full and he has nothing left to give. Sweeney leans in to touch his forehead to hers; his body trying to translate what's happening into what he wishes it was, and she can feel his shortening breaths panting against her skin. Those sounds she makes burrow into him, and Sweeney can't stop the way he begins to rock against her, his cock desperate for any pressure it can come by, even if it's just the side of her thigh.