She doesn't shy away or pull back at his touch, so Sweeney just leaves his hand where it is. Truth be told, he's a little nervous to move it, lest he end up urging her towards him, instead of releasing her as he should. He does his best to stand still and take it, enjoying the act while trying not to be consumed with the desire to fuck her.

But then she wraps her fingers around his cock, and a small gasp escapes as he tries not to choke on his tongue. His eyes flicker wide for a moment while the wheels spin. Is this really part of the ritual?

Then she starts to stroke him.

Fucking hell.

At her vantage, she can see the muscles in his thighs tremble as he bites back a whimper, and she can feel the flesh throb in her hand, imploring. Sweeney had thought it a true test; at least, until she starts her path of kisses. Now it's time for him to cough, and his hand falls to her shoulder to catch himself. But he doesn't push her away. Sweeney'd made his comment the night prior; if she still wants to put her mouth on his prick, who is he to deny her?

When she abandons it to wash further up, it's left flexing, begging for more attention.