Harrow makes a thin, wavering little sound as it happens; all of it, from the hot gust of Gideon's breath against her skin to the heavy press of her body to the fingers sliding without barrier over her cunt. Beneath her, Harrow goes still, half with panic--it's too much, too little, exactly right--and half in a sick kind of curiosity, waiting to see what happens next. Her black eyes squeeze shut, her breath trembling.