He turns to where she sits beside him, places his hand behind her neck and kissed her, strong and possessive, pinning her wriggling body to the arm of the couch.
She moans softly in the back of her throat, then places her hands onto his chest and pushes him against the back of the couch, swinging her thighs up to straddle him.
He peels off her rust-colored sweater in a single fluid movement, then runs his palms below the hem of her skirt, up her thighs, fingertips hooked under the leg holes of her panties.
She leans forward, kissing his neck, fumbling with the fly of his jeans. After she unbuttons them, she struggles with the zipper, but cannot pull it down. She lets out a kittenish whimper of frustration. He places his hand on the small of her back to stabilize her and tilts up his hips with her on them and shakes them to loosen the jeans.
She coaxes the pants down over his hips and, as he crashes back down to the couch, snakes her hand eagerly into the fly of his boxers.
“Oh,” she says, her face tilting up toward his. “Is this it?”
