It gets a soft little cry out of her, too quick for her to hold back-- quiet and sharp, just for him. For the moment she's forgotten about everything except the feeling of his hand on her, in her; he doesn't need direction or requests or anything except the freedom to touch her, which she'd gladly give a thousand times.

That kind of ego would be a red flag from anyone else-- but Mulder speaks it as fact. And as his hand moves--deft fingers making her feel pleasantly full, finding a rhythm that's just right before she even knows what she wants-- she moans again, eyes screwed shut as she turns her head blindly towards him, her spine slightly arched and her hand twisted in the sheets as she gasps his name.