'Well, gotta keep...' his voice is low and rough, words interspersed with sharp breaths, 'him under control.

...bloody 'ell, luv.'

The lightness of her touch is doing his head in, in all the best ways. The 'him' in question is straining under her hand, looking for more, shooting waves of sharp pleasure through his body at each stroke. He hasn't got the energy to tense up and help it along; fored by exhaustion to lie there and take it. His only movement is to push into her rhythm a little.

And to rub between her legs, of course. The heat under his hand is both glorious and frustrating - glorious because she wants him, and he's been fantasising about being allowed to touch for years. Frustrating because there's a layer of cloth separating him from what he wants, disallowing specifics. No matter. He shifts his hand so his fingertips press over her clit, trying to give her more focused attention.

'Think it's cheating if the clothes stay on, but we go under them?'