She pulls his hair, says fuck you, and touches him in nearly the same moment; Norns, if that doesn't scratch every single itch he's practically ever had. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's noted that neither of them is particularly sophisticated in their methods at the moment, despite every small indication that they could be.

Well. Next time, perhaps. There will be a next time, he feels relatively certain about that fact. Thrilled, in no small part.

"We'll get there," he says (partially to himself, partially in response to Natasha) as evenly as possible, which is not actually all that evenly, truth be told. Not when he shudders as her hand works his cock. Not when his mouth is more occupied with grinning at her and biting her breast than making himself able to be clearly heard. Regardless, he doubts that she didn't hear him.

He adds another finger, another shudder chasing across his shoulders as he does so. There's not going to be much more room for whatever currently passes for patience from him, he's aware; the driving desire to withdraw his hand and be properly fucking her is practically a chant in his blood at this point. But he wants her to lose herself, just for a moment, with his fingers inside of her before he allows himself to follow her. Wants to win, an apparently winning means wringing an orgasm from her first.

As his fingers thrust in and out of her, as his thumb rubs furious circles against her clit, his mouth moves up her from her breast to her throat. He fully expects her to pull his hair again, hopes she does actually, although that does little to deter him from trying to bite her neck.