He was smarter than some men she'd met, and she appreciated his focus on what worked best for her. Her fingers tightened in his hair as her hips moved faster, losing their rhythm in a frantic pace. Despite her stuttered warning, it took a few more moments. She whimpered out her breaths in pants, the sounds uneven and climbing in pitch. Then her body tensed, her hands pulled, and her last few breaths came out as strangled moans.

It would be a few long seconds before she relaxed back against the couch. Caitlin let go of his hair all at once, suddenly afraid she'd pulled too hard or hurt him. But that was as much moving as she would do for the next minute or three.

"Fuck, Quentin," she huffed out, pleased.