She moans again, feeling the press of him against her and that slow, near-torturous slide. His hands are tight on her hips, tight enough that she can't squirm as much as she might want; the realization makes another needy, confusing something spark within her, when taken in combination with the things he's saying.

"You could, Nick," she gasps, her hands starting to curl against the sheets. "If I wasn't...wasn't good, if I didn't stay where you put me."