Well. She very well could, but Aerith struggles with being able to express herself so openly. In situations like the present one, anyway. If they were talking about plants, she'd speak until she turned blue. In intimacy... Aerith still isn't entirely sure how... to have a graceful conversation regarding it. Of course, that's harder to do when Balthier so easily knocks the wind out of her.
As he's once said, however, if she can articulate herself, then he's probably not doing things the way he ought to. It's likely complimentary that he can make her thoughts spin the way he does to the point where she can't properly converse.
There's that pressure again. The subtle press his nose against her thrumming pulse. Aerith draws in a breath, not at all in a position where she can protest or argue with him maybe the way she'd like to. The hand she's left atop his tightens just a touch, and eventually she shakes her head.]
N-no. [She begins with some care, feeling the involuntary twitch of the muscles that line her abdomen. And she gets why. The thing about pleasure is that is it begins to pool up and accumulate, it doesn't just fade. The more he taunts her, teases her, plays upon her, acquaints himself with scent and feel, the more it draws her toward that desire.] ...Please don't stop.
[It's as close as she can get to asking him for more. Because that's what she genuinely wants. More.]
no subject
She can't.
Well. She very well could, but Aerith struggles with being able to express herself so openly. In situations like the present one, anyway. If they were talking about plants, she'd speak until she turned blue. In intimacy... Aerith still isn't entirely sure how... to have a graceful conversation regarding it. Of course, that's harder to do when Balthier so easily knocks the wind out of her.
As he's once said, however, if she can articulate herself, then he's probably not doing things the way he ought to. It's likely complimentary that he can make her thoughts spin the way he does to the point where she can't properly converse.
There's that pressure again. The subtle press his nose against her thrumming pulse. Aerith draws in a breath, not at all in a position where she can protest or argue with him maybe the way she'd like to. The hand she's left atop his tightens just a touch, and eventually she shakes her head.]
N-no. [She begins with some care, feeling the involuntary twitch of the muscles that line her abdomen. And she gets why. The thing about pleasure is that is it begins to pool up and accumulate, it doesn't just fade. The more he taunts her, teases her, plays upon her, acquaints himself with scent and feel, the more it draws her toward that desire.] ...Please don't stop.
[It's as close as she can get to asking him for more. Because that's what she genuinely wants. More.]