I do. She hisses, drops her head back on to my shoulder, then grabs my hands away again and pushes me down on to the bed. I am a bridge, head and feet on the mattress as I reach for her. Swift fingers brush from my tailbone to my stomach, missing nothing. Her mouth brushes my skin. She lingers out of reach, then comes down on my thighs. Still not where I want to be. Where she wants me. She grabs my wrists and drops on to my chest, then bites my ear, and breathes into my mouth. The most important exhalation in the world. I want it in my lungs. In, out, in, out. I suck in oxygen through my nose, taste her breath again. She disengages, and something tickles. Oddly rhythmical, familiar, the first unerotic thing she has done since we came up the stairs, and still woven through with strain and sex as she moves, nipples pressing and brushing.