His hand lifted to brace against my back but not to haul me closer, just to keep me steady on his lap. Isn't this enough? I wanted to cry. Can't you help, take the rest? I trembled on his lap, still waiting for force, needing it, until a flicker of néktar twined through the air between us, thin and shy. I brushed my thumbs over his cheeks, back and forth, and the wisp of pleasure tightened to a thread. His pleasure, not mine, but sweet and curious and something for me to grasp onto.
