His moan is pushed through his nose by tightly-pressed lips, as it he could pass as being anything other than completely enraptured. Sweeney's hands loosen, both abandoning her to work in unison, clawing hurriedly at the bedding above his head, trying to scoop and gather masses of pillows and comforter so he can watch her without straining his neck.

Oh, what a sight. The size of her hands and sweet lips only make the proportion more skewed, but she doesn't seem to let it deter her. Sweeney has to swallow frequently to try to slow his breath. The effort doesn't manage to deepen it much. His lips part, but no words come as his fingers slip back into her hair. They don't twist, but the other hand takes that wanting out on the bedding, his knuckles tight as he grips it.

If she keeps at it, there's no way his resolve will last. Hopefully, he'll at least be able to keep her on top and not lose so much will that he has to roll them over and claim her.