She wriggles beneath him, not hard enough to dislodge him from between her legs. It feels good enough to not lie still beneath him. Intimate in a way that has her feeling more exposed than she is. She's grateful he's not looming over her to watch her reactions; she much prefers for him to listen to her via touch. It feels less confronting. Breathing hard and shallowly, she peers up at the ceiling and swallows hard.

Digging her heels into the bed, she shifts her hips slightly, unintentionally angling them up. She startles at his question, having expected him to speak rather than think. Gripping the bedsheets, Wanda inhales deeply in an attempt to regain some semblance of control. She doesn't want to slip; she wants to be present, but not tightly coiled, even though she knows he can feel just how aroused she is by his gentle exploration.

It takes her a moment to parse what he's asking. Wanda keeps her gaze on the ceiling and hums. Yes.