[She clamps down on her lower lip, mortified. But playing it cool is difficult, given the situation. Hurricane's mouth is soft, and moist, and practically freezing against the flush that's long since crept well down her chest. Of course her breath catches for an instant.

That mouth is also definitely, definitely kissing her neck, and her collar, too softly devoted to be some fluke or sort of inexplicable joke--here, finally, is when she considers that this must be a dream--still, too slow to keep from letting out another shivery breath, or from squirming around his leg, into the press of his thumb, or from pressing him closer, just a little.]