[To sit there is a delight and then a nightmare; for all the well feeling of each movement she makes against him there is another thought, wanting more, but silenced by the band on his wrist and his own will. While trying, God, with every roll of her body against him flush and hot, he resists the urge to rock his hips upward harder than the slight rolls he makes now.]
What I want to do. [He nips her neck, the underlying unsaid of 'and what I would do' not requiring its own breath.]
A list far too long. [ah, he squeezes her hips, holding her down against him for a beat-- long enough to nip and suck at her neck] ... For the bath alone, at least. And I don't think it all that wise to take you home again.