[His hand is smoother than hers, gentle, warm. Éowyn moans, shaky and breathy, and her fingers tighten instinctively around him. She was right, she's happy to discover: it does feel good to have someone else's hand here in place of her own.]
[When he pushes his fingers inside her, that wins another little gasp, and muscles she's only half-aware of tighten, her wet cunt clenching around his hand. She's ready, more than ready, to be touched and filled; she's wet enough that it runs down his hand, wanton pleasure prickling up her spine and into every limb.]
[With her free hand, she reaches down to undo her own breeches, wanting to close that last space between them. Wanting, she realises with a wry twist of self-consciousness, to fuck.]
no subject
[When he pushes his fingers inside her, that wins another little gasp, and muscles she's only half-aware of tighten, her wet cunt clenching around his hand. She's ready, more than ready, to be touched and filled; she's wet enough that it runs down his hand, wanton pleasure prickling up her spine and into every limb.]
[With her free hand, she reaches down to undo her own breeches, wanting to close that last space between them. Wanting, she realises with a wry twist of self-consciousness, to fuck.]
[This place really has got to her, hasn't it?]