Jenny means to respond, the question simple enough, but he's made that momentarily too difficult, a faint whine catching in her throat at the way his mouth feels. Back arching, head tipped back against the pillow, it's like everything in her is pulled tight, and all it does is make her want more. She told him she'd done this before, and she thinks now that might have been wrong; before, everything seemed entirely overrated to her, a formality, something to just go through the motions of, not remotely like this. His hands, his mouth, they're both electric, and it's all she can do to remember what it was she'd meant to be doing anyway, swallowing hard to work up the ability to speak. "I — I think so," she says with a slight nod. She has to strain a bit to try to reach, but she does manage to get them undone, pushing fabric down as best she can. "God, that feels good."