By the time any coherent thought returned to Valencia, she was nude on the bed. Her various layers were littered about the room, some (her undergarments, she remembered distantly) had been thrown aside entirely in favor of the sensations Don Juan was providing her. There were so many new feelings and places he touched that she hadn't known could bring about such pleasure. And yet, that liquid heat she felt deep in her core remained in its rising crescendo, almost as though a final piece remained missing.

Much to her chagrin, he remained mostly dressed with only his shirt untucked and unbuttoned in a random order. Every time Valencia had made a concentrated effort into undressing him as he had her he distracted her once more.

A frustrated huff followed another of these failed attempts, even as his hands trailed distractingly on her thighs. "This isn't fair," she muttered in her native tongue, all thoughts of completing the night in English forgotten in the heat of the moment. Then, in a moment of brazen instinct, she forced him onto his back and rose above him so that the only parts of her that touched him was her bare thighs on the sides of his waist. "First, your clothes. Then you may continue." Valencia all but ordered as she began unbuttoning his shirt in earnest.

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