The SQUIP smirks, and then gently catches her lip in its teeth, grazing the blunt edges over the sensitive skin.

It agrees.

The hand at her back shifts up, over her ribs, slipping between their bodies to find the warm curve of her chest; its long fingers curl there, cupping the shape, and then it picks itself up to shift their position, to pick itself up over her. It dips down to catch her mouth in a deeper, more heated kind of kiss, a slim thigh easing up to press between her own, to rub against her lightly just there.