Rachel is what you'd call a controllist.

That thrust, that press of fingers, maybe they were a little too hard for her at first 'cause she jolts and clings to him even tighter; before he can really process it, she's found some way to tangle herself up in the covers and push harder against him. He can feel it, in some distant part of himself. He can feel that she's getting tighter around him, quivering with every thrust, rolling her hips against his hand as he works her.

Yeah, he's not going to last much longer than that. [The only reason he's lasted so far is because he's got a fuckton of sexual experience. You don't become a Sex God if you gotta think of the mail, dude.]

Her hips smack against his when he isn't expecting it; her control is slipping and slipping fast. "Fuck, baby," he encourages, his voice rough, partially soothing and partially desperate. "Come for me. Just let go. Let go, baby, I got you. Come for me, wanna feel you. Wanna hold you, wanna watch you. Wanna hear you fuckin' scream my name. Wanna - wanna come inside you, fuckin' fill you up, all mine." He bites her earlobe, arching himself against her, pinning his hand between their bodies. "Fuckin' love you, babe," he hisses low in her ear.