Nerves — girlish virgin nerves? — choked her a little, and she dragged in a harsh breath, and another, and reached down, shifting her knee aside. Gently, entirely unsure now, she brushed her fingers over his clothed cock, tracing the shape of it as it pressed against the fabric. There was heat against her palm as she laid it down, slid her hand up and down. “Please?” she echoed, concentrated. She closed her fingers over the top of it.
Letting out a gurgled moan at the welcomed friction, he continued to grind against her hand as one of his own slid down the back of her jeans, splaying out over the bare skin there. Snapping his hips up and whining impatiently, he hardened further and threw his head back. “S-Summer!”
She made a little sound of inquiry, pressing her open mouth against his throat. Her hand worked, slow and light, never closing very tightly. Her heart pounded, irrespective of the motions of her hand.