Why can’t they just get married?

She holds fast onto him, giving him a little leg and hip crush, but nothing pelvic. Not the kind of pelvic crush she has in mind before the trip is over, given as part of her package, part of giving him the business end: one where she will walk into his arms and grind into him, breasts and Mount Venus and all, all in one big squinch.
Get him up, hard, fast.
Make some lead pipe again.
Maybe what he’d have loved while they slow fox trotted, a big pelvic crush rather than a ladylike, delayed backing off, with her spine curving.
But that depends on how everything goes, over the next few days, in this game being played between one man and one woman. A game she has thus far not particularly excelled in, nor greatly enjoyed. Why can’t it be that they just get married—without all this? Be nice, be really nice say they could. But it can’t… And even she knows that.