You slide your other arm under her neck and pull her opposite shoulder into you—kissing her flushed cheek, “You know, I think you just don’t want to admit it.” She pouts and turns her head, determined to stick to her story. But your finger was determined as well, and it currently had the high ground. You finally find the muscular nub buried deep in the corner of her protective folds; her trembling thighs confirm the importance of your discovery, “Aw come on, there’s nothing wrong with being a bit sensitive.”