Once his wrists were free, Ernest felt some of the tension ease away, although he still refrained from touching or taking back control. He wanted to touch her - God, he desperately wanted to touch her - but he didn't want her to stop talking, either. He didn't want to do anything that would make her stop talking.
She was really going to town with her answers, properly describing every detail just as she knew he would enjoy. Words and imagination were obviously a big deal to him, and she knew how just how to drive him crazy using them. She might as well have had her mouth on him, his skin was tingling with pleasure. He wondered for a moment if she might be able to make him come just by talking to him.
He did smirk a little at the idea of her enthusiasm; there was something about the idea of her trying so eagerly that was pleasing to him. And the idea that she learned over time. Maybe it was wrong that he was really getting off to stories about an ex, but the less he considered what was right and wrong the better really. It didn't matter. She was happy to tell him. She was enjoying telling him, and he gave her a nod on a bit of a moan at her question.
"Fuck, I-" he started, giving her a rather desperate look. Which would he like better? He was so overwhelmed with imagery it was all melting into one, there was no good answer to that question. "You pinning, you in control-" he told her once he's just about managed to breathe and unscramble his thoughts. "You making her scream. Your mouth-" Whatever he was going to say about her mouth was lost in a whimper.