Her skin is met with the chill, hardening the dark ends of her nipples and putting goose bumps on her flesh. But his hands are warm and soft on her back, bringing her another little shudder.

The risk is actually compounding Annabelle's drive to continue—not because she's an exhibitionist, but because she likes to cause trouble. When he leans down and licks her nipple, she makes a sound that's almost a gasp—it's confusing, and not something she's familiar with as a sexual move. But the sensation delivers, and she knits her brows with a little bit of a needy moan when he gives it a suck. She also can't help but imagine them from a third eye perspective, the adrenaline of danger in being caught making her inner walls throb.

It's surprising—interesting, even—that it feels so good. She clutches the back of his head, her breath quickening.

"I'm aching," she breathes, overwhelmed. She takes one of his hands, moving it towards her crotch—but all the folds and layers are in the way. Frustrated, though only compromised for a moment, she leads his hand up her skirt. "It hurts," she laughs, sounding bewildered and amazed.