He didn't answer.
Instead, he moved.
He reached for her — large hands gripping the backs of her thighs.
She gasped as he pulled her forward, stumbling into him as he let himself fall onto the bed, dragging her with him.
Her palms landed on his chest, hair tumbling forward, her body now hovering over his — skin to skin, breast to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. Her full breasts pressed warmly against him, stiff nipples dragging teasingly over his skin.
"What are you doing—" she started, breathy.
He didn't answer — not with words.
One arm slid around her waist, the other hooked under her thigh and lifted — slowly, deliberately — until her leg rested on his shoulder, opening her wide.
Her body tensed instinctively, her breath caught in her throat.
Her folds brushed against him, slick and swollen, still trembling from before.
He didn't enter — not yet — just rested the heat of himself against her, pressing the length of him along her soaked entrance.
