He groans in need of her. And moved. His head ducking for his mouth to have her throat. His hips thrusting his hard on through and past her hold on it. His whole body arching to align them… find the river in the valley charted by his hand. And slick and frictionless, through and against every rippling grip and nerve, surging through.

None of which broke for a moment the rhythm of his thumb against her own hard flesh. It worked at her, light and ceaseless like water, even as their stomachs pressed abruptly together, forcing the rest of his hand flat between them. His other fingers moved aside for the greater mass of him to enter her. And as he'd wanted to do so badly before, he worked her now from both sides: cock within, thumb without, driving her with all he could to starlines and relief, shaking in his core with the intensity of her throes and swells around him.