The soft rumble of a chuckle betrayed his amusement at the deep rush of color in her cheeks; the woman took entirely too much pleasure in making him blush, and it was deeply satisfying to see he could return the favor. He slid his hands back up and over her hips, settling them into the indent of her waist and pushing them to rest on the small of her back beneath her coat, his hands still warm despite the crispness of the air and the very light dusting of snow that had begun to rain down on the outdoor rink.
"I'd like to enjoy all of you right now," he muttered in turn, but delved in to deepen the kiss, allowing her (and himself, if he was being honest) to, as he had said, take full advantage of the state he was in. She was right to assume she was not likely to see it again anytime soon, if ever.
They had glided to a stop somewhere in the midst of their makeout session, and by then he had all but forgotten about any of the other humans milling about them. "I want to show you something," he confessed suddenly, and he was looking at her with open honesty in his abyssal gaze. "But it means turning these murder boots in and getting out of here."