He would expect nothing less. Her fingertips dragged searing currents against his skin and he jolted, his eyes staring down into hers in such a way that it almost seemed that he was about to tell her to stop. He nearly did, urged by a familiar swell of panic as her hands explored and tantalized, the reminiscence of strange hands touching and stroking and prodding threatening its way to the surface before he anchored himself in the dark pools of her eyes and brought himself back to the present. This was different.
This was good.
This was her.
And then her fingers were on him, around him, and he gasped, biting off another groan behind clenched teeth as his hips bucked against her. "Fuck, woman," he whispered, and in retaliation he finally broke eye contact to lower his mouth to her exposed breast, capturing her nipple between his teeth and scraping them against the hardened bud before soothing it with a quick lash of his tongue.
The hand at the back of her neck slithered downward, tracing along the sweeping curves along her side, finally finding purchase against the side of her thigh, gripping her there and sliding the skirt of her dress up further still so that his fingertips glided over the silky flesh of her hip, dragging slowly inward toward the heat radiating from her center. "I think I'm going to enjoy it."