The squirming was a good thing. So were the fingernails. He felt himself steadying, more like his regular self, which he contributed to the alcohol that was hot in his stomach. Brian swooped lower and closed sharp teeth around the buckle of her jeans. He gave them a firm tug and released again, being playful, letting her know what he was picturing doing, even if it was too soon to do it. A slow path was traced by his nose, up the center of her body, belly button to throat.

She smelled sweet and feminine. His hands itched to touch her. He just wasn’t sure he could start it without moving faster than she wanted. To stop himself from reaching up her shirt, he stretched out and he let her take his weight. The sweatpants weren’t much of a barrier. She was soft and warm and he could feel her shape. He figured she could feel him, too.

He buried his face in her neck and closed his eyes. Narrow hips sought and pushed against her. The pressure was both relief and torture. The voice in the back of his head kept spitting out her name on repeat. Valerie. Valerie.

Breath flooded her ear.

“How do I get you to make that sound again?” He looked over his shoulder at her leg, the one nearest the back of the couch. His fingertips drew a slow circle on her kneecap. Brian met her eyes as he looped the crook of his arm under her leg. There had to be advantages to her line of work; he assumed flexibility was one of them. With a quick tug, he pulled it up to meet their shoulders.