She let him have her, let him ride out the first wave of that huge swell of wanting, pushing her back and rutting against her with that same animal heat that took them both in the shower. But she never let go of his wrist, and the hand that found his hair yanked hard with a well-timed push of her foot and a bit of magic to roll him over and another bit of magic to cushion their drop to the floor.

Then she straddled him, fierce and triumphant, like a she-dragon surveying her prize. Her hips did roll against his, but only once, hard and demanding before she held herself off him again. If he imagined for a heartbeat it was easy for her, he had only to look at the full-black lust in her eyes or the tips of her breasts beaded clearly visible through her blouse. That, if he couldn't feel the ravenous heat between her thighs.

Voice thick and velvety, she murmured his name and flipped the wrist she held down to the floor by his head. Then she tilted her head until it hit the limit of movement from his hand in it and glanced pointedly to the other side of his head--where she very clearly wanted him to put his hand. They might need something a little 'lighter' than him kneeling for her, but she wanted to 'welcome him home' properly, and apparently properly had teeth.