She hovers over him, positioned on all fours, her hands bracing on either side of his head while she gazes down. The fumbling with his zipper is almost enough to win a small smile from her - this, of all things, would be what they'd wrestle over - but that all disappears when his hand roams over the inside of her thigh.

She lifts one of her hands, using the other to stay propped, and doesn't even watch to gauge where it lands on his body, just explores through another sense. It slides down between her own legs, knocking into his hand for a moment, but continues - down between his, the edge of the zipper digging into her wrist as she turns it underneath, under a waistband, skimming over his lower abdomen. Her eyes lock onto his the moment her hand wraps around his length, slowly stroking.

This is about him as much as it is her, and she'll gasp when he does, her arm rocking back and forth.