She did sit up finally, moving her hips slowly as she kept hold of his right hand, her own caressing his chest and tracing designs with her nails on his skin. Every so often she would brush her mouth over his hand, tasting and testing the lines and depths and textures of the feeding slit in his hand, trying to prolong his sweet torture before squeezing him with her inner muscles that somehow still had strength yet.

It was an enjoyable process for the both of them.