Oh, God, whoever taught him to kiss should get a medal; her own thought processes are seriously in danger of being derailed every time his lips move, and then yes, fuck his fingers clench on her hips and she gasps and bucks up instinctively, nerve endings already hyper-sensitive.

When his forehead dips onto her shoulder she pulls herself together enough to stroke his hair, fingers tracing down his neck as she kisses the top of his head and murmurs his name again.

And then she sees his bitten lip (she's going to make him make a lot more noise than that, one way or another) and oh, hell, she wants him, and the way she kisses him shows it.

"You, me, shower," she repeats, planting more pressing, hard little kisses to that bitten bottom lip in between every word. "Or here; but I want you now."