Pleasured shivers ripple down his spine when her fingertips wander across his lower back, an automatic response (even if this 'version' of his soul does not understand why exactly he reacts that way) to being touched with such care and desire in a place where only she has done so with her hands. It is a pleasure that he would struggle to explain to her why it feels so good, but it just does.

"More of that," he mutters softly against her lips during a 'break' for air.

(At least they are remembering to breathe, this time. For now.)

"Just cannot get enough of your hands on me," he adds. "No matter where they are."