While Adora's been dimly aware of the growing tenderness in her breasts, of her nipples straining against the fabric of her top, it's not until Catra touches them that she realizes just how sensitive they are. How much they're aching to be touched. The sensation, even muffled by the barrier of clothing, sends little sparks down to her stomach, and Adora's-- really trying, okay, swallowing down the thrumming in her throat, breathing harshly through her nose. She's being quiet, even if she has to bite into the sheet, its texture coarse against her tongue.

Adora's thighs are tight around Catra's hip, and her back arches, pushing her chest out into her hands in a silent demand for more. Her own hands-- she keeps forgetting them, leaves them twitching and trembling against Catra-- find some initiative of their own, one threading softly through her hair, the other sinking tentative fingers into the fur of her lower belly.