There's a breathless little keen from him, between Jedao's sudden intensity pulling back and the hands keeping him from following, and he's already panting heavily, face flushed in any combination of nerves, fluster and arousal.

"O-oh..." He has to swallow to get around the dry lump in his throat, and it's audible before he licks his over-sensitive lips. "Okay."

It's only a subtle shift, but something in Eiffel adjusts, just a little. And the hands on Jedao's hips are dragging nails down the backs of his hips, and the legs he's astride square off their footing so Eiffel can rock Jedao into the soft scrapes he's leaving down his back.