Jean had no idea that he was afraid of going too far. She was completely caught up in the moment, carried away on a tidal wave of sensation. Just as Logan couldn't have stopped his hands, Jean couldn't stop her thoughts. She didn't pry, she had no desire to, but she still found herself receptive to his surface thoughts, her shields dropping away. It wasn't a conscious choice, it was instead an unspoken and previously unrecognized desire for a deeper connection. For all that he called himself a canucklehead, for all that he was a 'psychic dead zone', dropping her shields like that gave him access to her, gave her an openness that she wasn't even aware she was offering. At the same time, her mental tongue was tasting the flavors of his thoughts much the way his physical tongue was tasting her. No one could truly appreciate the intensity of intimacy for a feral, but there was a different, though no less intense, intimacy for a telepath like Jean.
His touch on her cheek gave her a sensation to focus on, and his thumb on her lip was answered with a smile followed by a teasing nip of her own as the rough pad of his finger dragged at the sensitive skin. She could hear the desire in his thoughts, the soft growling murmurs of want that were flashing across the surface of his mind.
Leaning against the window, she shivered from the cold glass, a deliciously sharp contrast to Logan's broad, warm chest, but one that was still a shock. It made her arms tighten around his waist as she pulled herself closer against him, one leg lifting to wrap around his for balance, her grin turning teasing and just a bit naughty. Too bad she hadn't had enough beer to be able to blame it for the desires that were slowly heating her blood and twisting her about from the inside. Desires that were probably quite obvious to the feral she was wantonly pressed against.