The pit of her stomach drops out at that look and she grabs handfuls of his thighs to push him open even wider, digging her fingernails into yielding skin. Her chuckle is deep, raspy, and hardly amused even as a smirk tugs at a corner of her lips.

“You wouldn’t be able to stand it,” she growls against his jaw, rubbing her cheek against his prickly stubble, letting it serve as a reminder that he’s alive (well,...) and warm against her, lets it send shivers through her as she thinks of it on other parts of her skin, rubbing maddeningly.

“I’ll show you, mmm, yeah,” she mutters, holding those thighs while she shoves inside him again, so easily and comfortingly, like it’s coming home (and isn’t it? He is home, home in a way nothing has ever been for her…).

Her fingers twine in his hair again, kissing him as she begins setting up the rhythm again, pulling him forward to deepen and adjust the angle even more, just as he’d requested. Her sigh-turned-moan rumbles against him and into his mouth, and she’s vaguely aware of the grip he has on her but more than aware of the rubbing against and inside her just as she thinks of the friction inside him.

“I--I want to so bad,” she bites at his lips. “Come inside you...but I w-will anyway…do my best… How’s it feel now? Hmm?”