She doesn't know if that harder and faster is meant to be a description of what he'll do later or a command for what she should do now, or both. She acts as though it's both, blatantly rubbing herself against his leg, her dress riding up to a level that would be indecent if their coats weren't acting as a shield, if she weren't reasonably sure he'd made sure no one would be watching them anyway, if she cared.

She doesn't care. Crowley's world has shrunk to this little bubble of space, his voice, the spell he's weaving with it, her need and his. This must be affecting him too. If it isn't she'll bloody well make sure it does. "Yes," she answers, though it's more a moan than a word. She's soaked now, her pants thoroughly wet, enough that he may be able to feel it through the layers of her sheer tights and his elegant trousers. Maybe it'll leave a stain there, a sweet wet spot on his immaculate outfit.

That idea makes her moan again. "Fuck, angel--" She pulls her head back enough to look at him, skin flushed and mouth open, puffy from where she's been biting at her lip. She lifts a hand to his face, traces his mouth with two fingertips, presses them briefly against his lips, seeking entrance. "Your mouth...fuck, how'd an angel like you learn to be this dirty?"