It feels so good already. There's heat shivering down her spine, pooling low in her belly, lower than that still, and she can feel her cheeks and chest are flushed, pink with pleasure. Although there isn't much she can do from this angle, not when they're both sitting, she still somehow worms her hand between them, and as much as she just wants to roll her hips and press herself down against him, there's something so unexpectedly exciting about sliding her palm over the outline of his length and she almost laughs. Not because it's funny at all, because it isn't. Because she's touching him nearly two years after they had first started dating, after she'd broken up with him, after he'd been so angry with her and she knows she's deserved it, but it doesn't change how funny this all it.

She can't laugh, though, because he feels so good against her palm and her heart is pounding and she can't wait to get her hand on him for real, to feel the weight of him in her palm, to feel the heat, the smoothness of his skin.

"Chuck," she breaths, pressing her palm against him, wanting to create that sort of friction, but wanting to get him completely undressed all at the same time. "Oh my God."