His lips are forced tight, muffling the whimpers that beg her to take him already.

Sweeney tries so hard, but she doesn't make it all the way down before his hands are on the tops of her thighs. To his credit, he doesn't push, but his body can't bear the distance.

He can only manage about ten seconds of her dancing before his hands are back on her hips, fighting for the same restraint.

"Call me old-fashioned," he growls, his voice dropped husky.

"On ya, o'er ya, pressin' ya up on something, back on somethin'..." His fingertips sink into her flesh, but he doesn't shove.

"I ain't that picky. 'S long as I end up in ya." He can't help but arch into her in illustration.