She moved, she knelt, she grabbed his wrist as if she would never let it go.  He moved to touch her.  It wasn't even a conscious decision.  If he had thought, it would have paralyzed him, knowing that if she resisted the chip would fire again.  But his free hand stroked her cheek, down onto her neck, and he leaned in to nip her earlobe lightly as his chest continued with its slow rumble.  The smell of her arousal was intoxicating, and he was drunk on it.