Amanda rolls her hips forward, tightens her inner muscles, and Dox's head falls back against the mattress. He makes a strange, high-pitched hum for a moment before breaking it with a shuddered breath.
"I'm guessing that's a compliment," Amanda says, getting ready to do it again, but Dox suddenly grabs her ass and *grinds* her forward against him. Her hips are still twitching, seeking friction, and Dox starts thrusting up, finding a rhythm counterpointed to hers. It's good, his movement rough and slick between her legs, it's always good, and she can feel him responding beneath her: his dick getting even harder, his hands clenching against her ass. But when he looks at her he's glaring.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you," he tells her through clipped, carefully measured breaths. Amanda rests a thumb against his mouth, warping his sneer into something ridiculous. She half expects him to grab her thumb with his lips and teeth, the way a human might, but he doesn't respond at all - like whatever contract their bodies have with each other doesn't extend above his shoulders. Amanda slides her thumb away, trails it down his chest.
"Careful," Amanda says, tapping his ribcage, "you'd break a lady's heart." And she lets a grin spread across her face. "Assuming she still had one."