She's glad that her scratching spurs him on, because given half the chance she'd give him claw marks all down his back. Next time, she thinks, thoughts scattered, her spine arching and tensed, hips angled so he can drive right into her the way she likes.

And of course, the bastard wants her to confirm what she's already said, but she's so damn into this that she can't even complain, because what's life without a little dirty talk? So she obliges him, happy to stroke his ego a little bit if it means getting the best out of him. "Yeah," she whimpers softly, "yes." If he wants more he'll have to work for it.