His...

His hands.

The fingers that tap his chin when he thinks, the tools I envision could be used in many different ways.

His hips.

The way I can imagine my legs wrapped around while he thrusts. And thrusts.

His arms.

The way they are bulky enough to hold me up above his shoulders as he eats me your like I am the last dinner before execution.

But alas, it is all my Imagination.