From the approving commentary on her undergarments, to assuring her he'd rise to the challenge of being discrete, and saying he would do so for<em>her</em>, Maggie couldn't for the life of her figure out why Boston was being so damn nice. A bit of curiosity had crept into her eyes when his roaming fingers slipped underneath her with well practiced precision. Her elbows shook and buckled, bringing her chest to lay against his while her hips remained lifted so that his digits has continued access to her sex. As she bottled in groans of pleasure against his chest, she told herself all guys turned into romantics when they were hard and had a more naked than not woman sprawled on top of them, but his kiss cut that certainty into shreds of doubt.<br/><br/>Something had undeniably changed. They weren't just fucking anymore. The realization was infinitely more terrifying then the thought of being discovered. A brief panic washed over her eyes as the kiss parted. Though that fear didn't dissipate, it couldn't stop her hands from slowly moving to her hips and sliding off her briefs. The cotton joined the crumpled pile as she settled back on top of him, indulging in a few more strokes as she searched his eyes. Nothing separated the the soft heat of their flesh, and when she couldn't take the slick friction any longer, she pivoted her hips, inviting the head of his cock inside her in her downward grind. Her hips hitched to a stop, a prick of tension sobering her from lusty haze. Maggie was small to begin with, and her stretch of celibacy had only served to tighten her.<br/><br/>"I'm just a little out of practice." She admitted against his chest, her breath coming in short sharp gasps. Her hips rolled, taking him in another inch. Her shaky arms pulled herself upward, bringing her lips to his in search of another kiss.