He knew they had to stay quiet, too - he was trying his damnedest, because the last thing he wanted was for her father to wake up, to stop this, to kick him out when this was something he wanted to do with her for the rest of his life. So every time he even thought about making a sound, he bit it back, settling for gasping or sighing quietly, humming against her lips, and nodding at those words of hers, when she said it was better, when he made it better. All he could take that to mean was that he should just... do what he wanted, which was to touch her, everywhere, the fingers of both hands moving to slide down her back, to trace the planes of her skin as he leaned up to kiss her - slow, soft, sloppy kisses, but then again they were both panting and anything more was out of the question.

He felt dizzy, he felt like his body was on fire, he felt like they'd been at this forever and he couldn't actually remember how long it had been. "Love you," he mumbled, kissing her lips again and again, letting out a few more quiet, gasped sounds as she started to work up a rhythm. He wanted to help, to move his hips, too, but he was going to wait, wait until it was absolutely clear she was feeling good, that he would make it better, not worse. And in the meantime, he let her move how she wanted, his fingers skimming over her skin and his lips seeking hers out in between every breath.