Cormac's hands just continued to move on their own accord, stroking down her hair and rubbing circles on her back. Anything for a physical connection that told him Astoria was tangible and real, that she was solid and there. She was there. His eyes were closed, breathing her in. Even in their awkward angle, they both seemed quite comfort and content like this, neither moving an inch. Something told him it was time to even try again, try for more, or to move away, but he did nothing. He just stayed right where he was, telling himself to just enjoy it while he had it. With Astoria, with any woman of substance, who knew how long it'd last?
When she spoke, he opened his eyes, trying to focus on her words. He wasn't quite sure what she said since they were muddled against his neck and he decided not to worry about it. If it was important, she would repeat herself, he was sure. She certainly did like to make herself heard in a good way. When her hand went up to his chest, he blinked then closed his eyes again, as if to brace himself for her moving back. But she didn't. Her hand still on his chest, resting there like she simply liked to touch him, and she didn't move away. He hand still on her lower back, pressing his palm flat against it now. He wanted to do more, but he couldn't. Why couldn't he? Why couldn't he slid his hand up her blouse? Or pulled back only to try to kiss her again? To pull her on his lap when they did kiss? Once again, he was struck with the question of what made Astoria so special to him that he didn't do all this usual tricks to get what he wanted.