She sucked in a sharp breath, clinging to him. She hooked a leg over his hip, til they were rolled half together, and sobbed out a moan. “Yesgood.” Her knee pressed against his cock, and she ground herself against his other hip, rocking so slightly back and forth. “Don’t sulk,” she said, and tried to kiss his pout.
Crying out in pure delight as their hips moulded together and he shamelessly rocked up against her, hands clutching at her hips as the other moved to massage her breasts. “Please…” he pleaded into the kiss, not entirely sure what he was begging for.
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.