He's a wreck in truth. A few clever touches from her clever fingers and he's a ruin, caving and so close to giving in. It's only the few shreds of his pride that keep him holding on, holding back because he had made a decision, and he was going to stand by it dammit. No matter how good, how perfect she felt in his arms, her body pressed against his, his mouth against hers. He could stand a few more minutes, after years, months of waiting.

He could, but her hand find his cock and he near flinches at the touch, fingers pressing into the small of her back. "Fenedhis" another curse because there's little else that suits what he feels and Liaran shudders at how ragged he sounds, how desperate and needy he sounds as he clutches at her, cock throbbing in her hand.

"Ise, please," he manages, tongue feeling clumsy again, too thick in his mouth and he can feel her, slickness that is definitely not water against his cock and her whimper pulls at something primal within him, makes his hips jerk up into her grasp as he clutches at her, gasping softly and attempting to gather up his composure. "Please."

He's not sure what he's asking for in truth. Only that he finds himself entirely at her mercy, a fact he can actually embrace quite easily.