As he kissed her hands, she slowly lowered her hands, smiling shyly at him. "Thank you," she murmured, though she mentally cursed herself for it, as it was a ridiculous response just then. She forced herself to let it go by kissing him. They weren't done, not nearly, and she would feel better if they focused on the physical.
And when they were finished, limbs tangled, skin slick, breath short, she curled against him, resting her forehead against his chest. It was a bit surprising that it had been so explosively fantastic again, and she didn't think it was just a byproduct of her long dry spell. After a few long moments--which she'd taken to let her breath settle--she shifted her head up to rest her chin on his chest so she could look up at him.
"What happens next?" she asked softly, almost hesitantly, almost afraid of what he might say or want. Almost afraid of what she might want.