"I'm sure I won't," she manages to murmur in reply before she cuts herself off with a low, throaty gasp. Her head tilts toward him, demanding more attention from his mouth as he begins to set a slow, steady pace that has her rocking her hips back to meet him. Needy, wanting, demanding. She savors the way he opens her and drags himself inside of her and just how empty and aching he leaves her when he draws back. It's an exquisite sort of torture and one she very much enjoys - and she's vocal about it. Not to the extent of screaming, but there are soft murmurs of pleasure, a coo, or a gasp of escaping breath. She even reaches a hand up and back to find one of his horns and grip as she's ridden.