"Mmm." His hands slip down to rest on the swell of her hips. "Couldn't have ya fallin'," he points out with warm invitation, clearly more caught up in the recollection than particular concern.

Sweeney's focus wanders down her throat and chest. At this point, it's more about things he wants to hear her say, rather than teaching her new things, especially now that she's studying on her own.

"Ná stad." One he had growled at her only a bit ago. "Don't stop." Sweeney's grip digs into her flesh, not cruel but firm.

"Níos doimhne." His voice is low with a hint of gravel. "Deeper." His hands press her down as he rolls his hips a touch in accent.