Molotov's pithy retort dies on her lips as he kisses her, her eyelid fluttering closed. She holds the side of his face with one hand and wraps her legs around his hips, thin leggings letting her feel every wrinkle of his pants.

Eventually she can't hold back anymore, and she pulls just an inch or two away to whisper, "No, you definitely need my help." She emphasizes it by rolling her hips against him.