He shivers, knowing this time there's no imminent expectation other than her mouth finally closing over him. And the hungry, possessive way she looks at his bare body only intensifies the heat that's shutting down enormous blocks of his higher brain function. This exploration, this experience, belongs entirely to her and she knows it. He's at her mercy. Logically he knows that should register as something dangerous, something he should run from, but it's impossible to justify any of those thoughts while her clever hands sweep down his sides and along his thighs.

Instead, somehow--because he's Sherlock and if Sherlock can do any one thing well it's talk--he sort of keeps rattling on.

"And I mostly--fast forwarded through the blowjobs. Didn't think I could learn any--hah--anything useful if I wasn't experiencing it firsthand..."