I'd venture you could get anyone to make such sounds.
[It's not only his words that cause her to let loose a sweetly musical sigh; it's also the clever movements of his fingers. The Noah of Pleasure -- yes, she finds it an apt title. Still, it's not what she's after. Lacus doesn't want flattery, or courtly platitudes, or generic seduction. She already knows he's adept at all three. What she wants is for his mind to be a leaf on the wind, and his words to be natural and true. He's too focused on what he's doing to her, not on what he's feeling. She expects that's by design.]
[It's with a pang of real regret that she reaches down to gently clasp his wrist, draw him from her -- and not without a slow groan of indulgence. She intertwines their fingers and coaxes him to a seated position with her settling astride him, her thighs cradling his hips -- all as effortless and graceful as dancing. Her hips slide against him, slow and rhythmic, the tip of him rubbing her in ways that make her shudder.]
[Her lips move to his ear, nipping once before she makes her pleasure known with a series of drawn out whimpers. If she sounds a second away from her peak, that might not be inaccurate with the way her thighs flutter -- she releases his hands to hold her hips, and she moves with slow, languorous swells, like ocean waves. Something about him makes her respond quickly and dramatically, edging her climax so nearly that she has to focus on holding it at bay.]
What else shouldn't I... get you started on? [Her voice is mostly air, huffed against his ear and bookended with unrestrained sounds of pure wanting. His name is in there somewhere, whispered in what could almost be a kind of reverence.]