Rachel is what you'd call a controllist.

Her self control, her coherency, her awareness of anything but him, the things he's doing to her, they're all shot. Her own breath is loud in her ears, harsh gasps for air between the kisses she seeks out every couple of breaths. It doesn't matter to her that her lungs are burning, that her head is swimming from the pleasure and the lack of oxygen. What matters is having him closer, having every inch of her touching him that she can for as long as she can. If passing out wouldn't put an end to everything, she wouldn't stop kissing him at all. Her hands are starting to slip, the thin sheen of sweat on both of their skin starting to make any sort of friction difficult. The tops of her thighs are shiny with sweat and her own wetness and even though it's pointless, she winds her legs around his waist to pull him deeper, fight for more against the slickness attempting to make things difficult. He drops his forehead against hers as he thrusts up against her g-spot and she cries out, so close. "Noah." Her voice sounds wrecked. Nothing like herself at all. "Noah-...so. Baby, I'm so-..."