He slows down and she's tempted to pick up the pace, if only to hear that groan again, but then his hand slides between them, his fingers working her in time with his thrusts, and it feels so incredible that she lets out her own soft cry, considerably more desperate and needy. That sensation is all she can focus on, so she just buries her face in the crook of his neck, her breathing far too quick and shaky. Her hand, still holding his, tightens on his wrist in a desperate attempt to anchor herself, but it doesn't work. She wants to beg him not to stop, but all she can get out is a breathy, half-whispered "Alex, please."