"Everything's ... closed," she repeated before she lost whatever track that was going to follow. Everything wasn't closed. Things didn't close here. That's where she'd been going with that, but then he was kissing her and she was kissing him, and words didn't matter anymore.
He mattered. His body, the way he was stiffening against her thigh, the way his lips felt, the sheer heat of his body above her own. This mattered. She moved under him, arching into his hand or pressing closer when he shifted. Doing everything she could to maintain steady contact with his body.
She heard her own noises as she whimpered and moaned softly against his mouth, and soon, she even lost track of her own sounds as she tightened her arms around him.
This would be good. To lay with him, to be with him. To fuck him senseless until they were both exhausted and earthquakes didn't matter. She wanted this, wanted him, and afterward, she'd just ... sleep.