Rachel is what you'd call a controllist.

"Keep going," he mutters against her lips, her hips shifting against his, her thigh rocking in the rhythm of her movements. The way her hand is moving will get her there, yes, but it's time to add a different element to the mix, and he can feel the changes between her thighs that signal that she's just about ready [slow twitches, flutters, and she's hot and slick, dripping]. His hand slips away from hers, curling his palm against hers, three long fingers stroking against her teardrop-shaped entrance. "M'gonna find your G-spot," he informs her lowly, "so keep going." Without waiting for her response, he slides his fingers into her body and curls them toward her bellybutton, searching for the change in texture he knows is there. "Mmmmm," he breathes against her lips, sinking his fingers inside her to the knuckle and flicking, rocking his hips against hers as he pins their hands between their bodies. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good."