Want is such a pale word for whatever it is that has her in its grip right now. She goes gently, still not sure how much he's aching, her hand trembling a bit as he nips at her. Each touch draws another gasp from her lips, and she arches back, drawing him against her.

"Want you, caro. Want you. A cuishle. Mine." Her grip on him tightens at that last sentiment, the electricity of his touch sparking in her body sparking like ten thousand volts.