[A pulse that's picking up with every bit of motion, heat and color flushing over her skin while noises are jarred free from her throat by the rhythmic thrusts. All of which are hitting her quite right, proven by the way she groans his name in a few near-whispers whilst her body squirms. Her hips buck slightly more insistent, a tilt held that would ensure he drives in just the way her body aches for. And unaccustomed to banging a dead guy, her nails don't scratch deep but continue to draw lines over the back of his neck and down his upper back.]