[His throat betrays a purring sound that's strangled thanks to his labored breathing, his body on overdrive just from her touch, hips straining for more contact. He deepens their kiss, less confined by his fears now even if he can't dismiss them entirely, and that lets his hand move more freely too as he notices her encouragement.]
[That she's still covered is inconvenient but the seconds and movement it would take to remove it are ones he's not willing to spend. His fingers nudge aside the lacy cloth thoughtlessly (because if he were thinking, gods, he might never have the courage) and curl beneath it, instinct rather than experience guiding him, more than ready to do more if she reacts well, or retreat if not.]