"Help you slide your hand," he points out, rolling his hips in demonstration. The slickness seeping from his tip is enough to aid the gentle strokes of her fingers, but if she wants to really get him off, wants him to cry her name and thrust his hips against her palm, then lube is the way to go. "Baby, you don't need lube when I'm inside you," and his fingers slip between her thighs again, finding her heat and stroking there, the tips of two fingers just barely fitting inside her. [Find a happy place!] "You're - so wet. S'not like you need lube." His fingers still inside her, she tucks her body close against his, his lips brushing against her temple as he whispers to her. "I wanna make you come, Rach. Love seeing your face. Y'know how hot it was, you calling my name? That voice calling my name when you were fucking falling apart? That's what I wanna hear, baby. Every time I make you come, you're fucking saying I'm the one who makes you feel that way. That's better than a fucking Tony or a Grammy or whatever." His fingertips curl inside her, and he presses them deeper. "