Her knees actually go weak for a moment, and she's glad he's backed her up against the cabinets. One hand clutches at the counter, the other still strokes through his hair. There's a constant stream of breathless syllables on her lips, and a high pitched soft cry as he reaches her centre.

She's aching and each stroke sends another jolt of white hot bliss searing through her. Her hips rock forward into his touch and another shudder takes her.

Her head falls back and she just tries to remember how to breathe.