She shudders, twitching thoughtlessly to the teasing like a kite on a string. At much to the will of the wind as to the pull and tug. Her fingers twitching inside of her, rolling and trying to brace for more. Wanting for more but being denied. The kiss is barely a satisfaction, only peaks her, demands more of her, writhing in her lap, skin against skin.

"Teasing me, you mean."

Her voice is strained, even to her ears. But she carries on, even so, because stopping was a kind of death, she was sure. "How am I supposed to look at you, without knowing you like this?" Maybe she meant to keep that to herself but she thinks and then says it and takes not a word of it back.