God, she’s on fire as he drags his teeth across her skin - in a way that has nothing to do with the warm water trickling between them. She can feel the length of him nestled against her, and her next grind back is not nearly as accidental as the first, her hands reaching back to grip and massage his thighs. If they’re anything like hers, they must be sore.

It’s a thought that strikes her as kind, which makes her still for a moment — just a moment, until his fingers circle her clit and she shivers, biting her lower lip against a whimper. Ridiculous.

“You can just —“ She tries for a neutral, stiff tone, and lands somewhere in the neighborhood of husky. His fingers hit a particularly sore spot and she jumps, one of her hands moving to guide him away — but not off her completely. “You don’t need to get me off.”

She thinks she’ll die if he doesn’t.