“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “I told you, I want this. I want /you/.” She pulls at his shirt, dragging it over his head, then scrapes her nails down his chest. “Please.” By dint of some writhing, including a lot of arching of her body against his, she frees one arm from her dress.
Oh, oh, that’s new. Summer moans, eyes sliding closed. Her whole body is on fire, she wants his touch so badly. She’d meant to return the favour, but all she can do is hold on, head thrown back and hands shaking slightly against his shoulders.