He laughs, slow and deep, before the laughter is swallowed by a smaller noise at the tight tug of small hands wound through his hair. It isn't the first time he's been so glad to keep it long enough for a good yank, but it's been too long. Pressing forward again, he grips her hip, touch going from gentle to strong and sure to keep her rooted as he slips between again, sighing at the throb and the heat against his tongue.

He finds her leg with his free hand, pressing a palm against it to draw it up the length, beneath her thigh, until long fingers find her just below where he works. He strokes, playing along the edges, until he's certain that she's slick enough that thin callouses won't catch when he slips one inside, and then another, groaning and shifting beneath her. The heat between his legs is too hot, and too heavy, but he'd been far from lying when he'd told her he preferred the wanting to the having.