"Ha. Ha ha, you're real funny," he tells her and yeah, there's a trace of humor in his words but also no, not funny, Kate. She knows exactly what she's doing right now and if he wasn't a few sucks and strokes away from letting go entirely, he'd have a much better quip for her right now. But it's hard to stay even pretend mad at her when she's still got her hand around him and brushing the mess off hair out of the way of her face and wow, the sight of her like this is just so fucking incredible and he has to bite down so hard on his lip that he thinks he might split it just to keep the pathetic mewling that's threatening to leave his throat at bay.

He should really just make a move because it's a point that just feels torturous--a stupidly good kind of torture, though, he has to admit at least that--but he's kind of just under her spell, unable to even inch his way back to that drawer with the condoms in it. There's no rush, he knows, other than to beat the clock that's counting down until his dick can't take anymore of what she's doing. But to hell with it, he decides as he takes a breath and closes his eyes, rolling his hips to cause friction between his cock and her hand. As far as he's concerned, she can do whatever the hell she wants to him. He'll have no complaints.