His gasp turns into a happy, a very happy grunt. He croons into her ear, something quite coarse and encouragin, in Catalan, while he attempts to better anchor himself against the dresser. She's spectacularly tight, or or well wait perhaps this is the better part of skill, the way she grabs him, muscle nipping and drinking him down, and his eyes don't know whether to close or roll back in bliss.
"Anxious, yes?" he echoes hoarsely, and twists around to better shove her up against the wall. His elbows cushion her back from rubbing against the dresser, and between the broad palms of his hands and her agility, she sets the pace before he can.
He's more than happy to let her. This is more than he could ever have asked for, in a prelude. Oh, once he has her on her back- Just then she grinds down hard and tightens and his mind whites out.