Clint's assured her more than once that he likes to grill. She won't force him into anything.

You know what's overrated in times like this? Words. Words are so overrated. Sounds are good. Moaning and grunting, gasping and sighing are all they need to communicate. The volume varies, but the message stays the same. More, more, always wanting more. Verity tries to claim an almost savage kiss from him when she feels her peak approaching. Every muscle in her body starts to tense in anticipation. He knows what's coming next: the moans growing in frequency and pitch, the slight trembling while she fights to keep control, the tightening around him. The words might not be there, but the meaning is clear: please, please.