Mira groans as Genevieve presses into her, muscles tensing against her and relaxing; she bites down against the curve of Genevieve's neck, laughing very softly at her brag and at trying to keep herself quiet. "Fuck." She rocks up against her hand, pressing the curve of her palm all along her, her nerves electric. "I like the sound of that," she says, and with a bit of a mischievous look bends her head to lick over Genevieve's breast, over her tank top, teasing. "Care to...elaborate?" she murmurs, a little breathless.