Inara smiled softly. “There won’t be a mask.” And that was there misunderstanding in a nutshell; Mal’s misunderstandings about her. She never wore a mask with anyone. With her clients or not, she was always her. Inara was always the woman the academy had sculpted from the primordial clay she had entered as.
Squirming slightly as she was touched, Inara leaned up to meet his lips. Gently, her tongue traced the line of his upper lip. Her hands moved to lightly hang about his neck. She sucked lightly at his lower lip feeling the heat between them beginning to build.