[He does get a feel, as much as time will allow, palms and fingers exploring the curves of her hips, the lace of her underwear, the smooth skin of her buttocks, the sheen of silk at her thighs, intent to give a suspender a cheeky flick and yet not even getting close to succeeding.

She's got his arm before he can do anything else, his mind barely able to process what the hell is going on before he finds himself face down in the sheets, a muffled noise of surprise at the soft impact, soon trailing off into a purr as her hands wander and her hips grind. Winger couldn't have countered that move even if he'd tried, she was fast and nimble and surprisingly strong, and he's slow and bulky and entirely untrained, but he's fine with that. Fine with being thrown on the bed, even if it does have her thrusting against him.]

Ho-ly crap. [Still muffled until he finally turns his head to the side, cheek pressed into the bed as he tries to see her from the corner of his eye.] That was awesome. A-grade ass kicking. If that's what I get for being bad, I'm not sure I'd survive the rewards for good.

[Shifting just slightly underneath her, taking the weight away from his twisted arm as much as possible to avoid too much discomfort. He can deal with the grinding and hip jerking, and he can especially deal with the hands on his ass. He can, after all, appreciate any woman capable of kicking ass.]