[When it nods the second time, she leans in to kiss it a third, rewarding him for his clear communication. And it does wonders, knowing that on some base level, his motivations are understandable. She still can't quite look at his proper form, and only partly for fear of her migraines, but at least she can look at the tendril in front of her with something resembling affection. Or at least sympathy.]

Then - you may. Slowly, at first. Ease yourself into me. [She kisses at it a fourth time - and this time, her tongue does poke against him. He almost tastes like cold water, or perhaps even snow. It's not an entirely unpleasant sensation, even if it contrasts with the warmth filling her mouth with him inside of it.]

And grip me more firmly. Around the waist and back. I writhe quite a lot during sex.