The sting of her fingernails at his neck at collar, the edge of her teeth is like an anchoring point - sharpens without really clarifying, puts an edge to the cant of his hips and the way his own fingers dig into her skin. He isn't laughing, but he is grinning - flash of teeth as he pants against her cheek. It's an abrupt shift in tone, if not pace. Still rough, still grasping; he's still fucking into her with a kind of admirable single mindedness, though then he's pressing kisses to her cheek, grinning against her hair cropped short at the temple as he rocks into her - a steady rhythmic creak of the cabinets and the catch of skin.

It's ridiculous and hot and he's doing most of the work by necessity and he can't help but simply want to touch her, to feel her - the pleasure of her under his hands and around him and the press of her fingers and the angle of her knee against his side.