Hawk groans happily, having to adjust suddenly to the heat and pressure of Fever around him. This never gets old, especially with how she's holding his hand to her hip, his thumb traces a leisurely circle across her scarred skin.

"Good girl," he praises, the hand at her cunt carefully brushing aside pale bush to slip in between her outer lips and the hood of her clit. Gentle pressure for now, you don't skip right to dessert and knowing where the clit is is doesn't guarantee a good time if you assume it's a button you press to win. He's experienced enough to be able to adapt to each person he sleeps with, but there are some rules of thumb he follows anyway.

"That's it- you're golden, Fever, just golden-"