Her wordless moans light him up, sketch a single plea he answers without hesitation: Don't stop.

He doesn't want this to end. The pulse of her ecstasy, the heat of her body, his own quiet gasps mingling with hers as he works. Curtis bends close to bury his face against her neck, breathing her in; his metal hand doesn't really have any nails, but he rakes his fingers along her shoulder anyway, quick and stinging, as his teeth graze her pulse point.

"I love you," he breathes against her throat, "I love you -- "