Oh... Knock Out's engine jumps gears at the way she says that single word, startled only for a split second before deepening in response. Hidden by his plating but audible in the night air, his cooling fans begin to spin up, soft but persistent. He tries not to think about the last time a voice begged him like that, with nothing but sincerity and trust and—

Freed of the cloth barrier, Knock Out's hands return to stroking, harder now. His touch starts to trail tiny zings of energy in its wake, raising the filament-thin hairs on her body. Is external stimulation enough? He knows without a doubt that his claws would do damage inside, but...

His fingers are unique jointed: doubled over, each digit forms a blunter length, and this he presses deeper, giving her something to move against. "Please what?"