Finally and finally she's touching him, and it immediately wrenches a low moan out of his throat, his hips pressing forward closer into her hand as she starts stroking. Luther's teeth accidentally nip sharper against her breast, and then he pulls away slightly in order to bury his face more safely into her shoulder. That first touch is always the most sensitive, the one that sends his body trembling, bucking like an earthquake above her. There had been accidents, before: teethmarks bruised into her shoulder, or outright breaking furniture, or his whole body jerking like he's touched a live-wire and unintentionally knocking her right off the bed, both of them laughing, mortified, before smoothing it over by having her climb on top of him instead.

By now, they've gotten about as used to it as they can get. As her hand rolls over his cock, it's a test of willpower as it always is for him: Luther consciously pressing his hands into the sofa rather than her skin, his muscles visibly flexing and tightening as his body goes rigid above her. A ragged moan pressed into the skin of Allison's shoulder as her pace quickens. He'd gotten distracted and fallen completely motionless, just weathering the sensation as everything narrowed down to that friction and that pleasure, Number Three effortlessly shattering Number One's focus and concentration with just a few pumps of her hand; he's almost always so high-strung that he's easy to take apart like this, dismantle, unravel.

But after a moment he seems to suddenly remember that he was in the middle of something, too, wasn't he; and so Luther reaches down again to slide his fingers between her legs again, even as his breathing turns rougher and shallower.