Felix's hips cant up to meet hers with the same rhythm, seeking friction; when she pulls so gently at his hair, he breaks the kiss with a brief noise of protest just to say, "I said, don't hold back. If you're going to pull my hair, pull it."

It's odd to think that he has the stranger in the dark room to thank for anything, but the knowledge that it's absurdly arousing for someone else to control his movements by yanking at his hair is one of them, stupid as that reaction may be.

Rather than return to her mouth, he lifts his head a little to run his tongue along one of those glowing lines, traveling from her shoulder up to her neck and then biting at her earlobe. His hands push her dress up over her hips to slide along her thighs until his palms press against curls of pale hair and his thumbs seek her--the thing he still hasn't learned the name for, the sensitive place where he can rub circles into the flesh there.