No chiding could penetrate her toe-curled, breath-hitched satisfaction, and Alyosha gasped, tried to suck the taste from his mouth. She made a wanting sound, a soft mewl that was barely more than vibrations in her throat, shivering against the slickness of his tongue where it touched her skin. Reflexively, her hands clenched around fistfuls of his clothing, tugging him toward her, flicking her tongue against his lower lip, needful, wanting, the gestural equivalent of a 'please, please, please' begged against his mouth.

"Lost track, have you?" She all but hissed, disbelieving, half challenge, half invitation, eyes flashing in the dark.