Damn the pain, she's leaning up, one hand at his cheek, a trail of open mouthed kisses marking the line of his jaw down to his throat. She wants to hear him growl again, wants to make him move quicker.

But as wonderful as that angle of attack is, it's terribly counter-productive on the 'removing clothing' front and she falls back with an overly dramatic frustrated groan. Her lips set in a firm line as she lifts her hips from the bed, letting him finish what he started.

And from here, she discovers, curling her palm along the front of his trousers, she can torment him through the fabric just as easily.