She wishes she'd ditched it too, her pride pricked by how easy she's making this for him. "Shut the fuck up," she mutters, tangling one hand in his hair and tugging.

Pride or not, she's like this every time, too needy, too desperate. It's hard not to be, caught between everything that Finnick is and everything he is to her. Her nails drag down again leaving red marks in their wake. Down his back, lighter over his side until she's at his hip.

There's a moment of distraction when his teeth tease her nipple, but it'd take more than that to make Johanna Mason lose track of what she's doing. She wriggles her hand between the press of their bodies, ghosting over his cock before she palms it through his pants.