Okay, not fair. Not really unfair either, but that's neither here nor there when he's done most of the heavy lifting thus far (and seriously, it's been one bloody hell of a dry spell so she's not exactly against the idea of sitting pretty for round one). She arches up into his grip, into the path of his thumb, the heat of his mouth and that dull, urgent pressure.

And then draws back with her fingers dug in under his jaw, pressing back in a bid to try and force him-- mildly-- into the back of the futon behind him at a steep angle rather than letting him stay upright for what's next.

Sorry, Charlie.