What was more beautiful… her breathing, the movement of her hips, the sound of her voice affirming and encouraging more… He needed her, he needed to breathe her in. He bent his face to her throat to do so; tracing the curve of her neck with his nose and lips; taking her in like she was coming up from underwater; managing to whisper back, "Good," with all the breathless intensity and mutualness of feeling as hers had been. And he began to kiss her neck, arch from shoulder to jaw, under and behind her ear, along her throat, everywhere he wanted to feel her skin on his lips, her pulse, her scent, slaking his thirst for her. And in her lap, his devoted lapping of her hard pulse there with his finger picked up. Rubbing was too forceful and clumsy a word; he fluidly stroked and swirled her there, the gentle pad of his finger never breaking contact, making the stimulation uninterrupted, like flowing water… and, daring a little, another of his fingers curved inward, brushing her lower, and, through her underclothes, dipping a little, the slightest push into her softest warmth.