Her fingers clamp shut, but she has the presence of mind not to stop the attention she's paying to Joan's neck. That feels good, having control over her own reactions again. Carelessness kills. Panic kills. She was taught to be better than that.

"Not there, please. The back of my hand instead, or my arm, if you prefer."

Her fingers still have enough dexterity to undo buttons, so she pops the top one free, and then her hands skirt under Joan's waistband, down until she finds the start of her pubic hair and moves back to the skin above it, rubbing back and forth.

"I believe it is called 'foreplay'," Beta answers. "Is it unpleasant?"

It isn't unpleasant. Joan isn't hiding her reactions. Winding people up is fun- call it the skill honed by being raised with dozens of siblings.