She doesn't lift her hips to help him, but that's only because he handles her body so well that she doesn't have to, the jerk. Her arm lifts, covers her face as she starts finding it difficult to keep control of her expression. His mouth is driving her insane, which is probably impressive, considering how crazy she is already.

How many did you kill? The arm snaps away immediately, hitting the bed as the words slice through her. Johanna scrambles to sit up, away from Finnick, staring at him with a confused, accusing stare. Why bring that up now - why bring that up ever--

It takes a moment, for the rest of his sentence to sink in. She swallows, looking away from him. Not wanting to admit to her paranoid mistake. "Stupid stylist wouldn't stop crying about how I ruined his creation. I had to do something to make him shut up."