Every breath Rogue pulled in was a gasp, released in a moan. Her hands were just as restless as his, clutching at him and urging him closer. The sound of the fireworks was still there in the distance, and had she had any thoughts to spare, she would have been grateful that most of his neighbors were likely out at the moment - she was not at all quiet in her increasing passion and appreciation for the way he was moving within her. And that bruising kiss under her jaw, there was a thrill in that for her too; she'd never had a hickey before.

It was such a turn-on to her for them to still be partially clothed, but with no barriers between their most sensitive parts. Her experience with sex before Steve had always involved carefully placed clothing, silk, or other protective layers, to ensure Remy made it out of their encounter alive. So it was familiar for them to still be somewhat covered now, but maddeningly delicious for it to not be at all necessary.

She tried to move even more beneath Steve, coaxing him to move faster, to make her feel more. If she'd been able to catch her breath, she would have tried to tell him so.