He was insistent, tugging her across the room and working her robes undone, and she wondered how would ever give in enough, be passive enough to allow himself to be penetrated. Not that women had to be passive - the act of allowing yourself to be was not inherently passive at all - but there was a certain amount of stillness, acceptance, opening required, and she wondered how George would manage that when he was so very active and eager as a lover.
She supposed she did know a little about what it was like - about what it would feel like to be on his end, anyway, and that would always help. And he had done this before. Just not with a woman, she presumed.
"Mmm," she murmured, slipping her hand down to cup him through his jeans, stroking him up and down. "I can feel." Her robe was open and hanging down her shoulders, skin prickling in the cool air. She leaned in and kissed his throat, slipping her other hand down to work at his belt buckle. "So hard for me."