He liked her hands on him, he thought. He liked them quite a lot. He caught her tracing one of the designs just under his collarbone and grinned at her. "Got a few of those for you to explore, if you're into that." So many women seemed fascinated with the amount of ink in his skin. His breath caught as her hand brushed over a particularly sensitive spot on his ribcage. Yeah, the mood was definitely on its way back in.
He sat up so that he could get a better grip on the hem and with one quick motion pulled up, peeling the clinging fabric out of the way. Her hair went everywhere and an expanse of pale, smooth skin was revealed, soft under his hands, surprisingly unmarred for one in her profession. He stroked up her ribs, tugging her down with him so that she would end up partially collapsed on top of his chest and he could press his lips against her neck. "Once we've rectified that," he said, placing a sharp nip followed by a kiss where his lips had landed, "I feel like we can figure the rest of it out."
Excellent, that's going to bruise was among Damia's first thoughts as he nipped at the tender flesh of her neck, but her lashes fluttered nonetheless. This was going to be a long night, so there was little use in pretending this didn't feel good. She wasn't an inherently stubborn person, nor one who sought to deny herself pleasure, but-- it'd been some time since she last tumbled into bed with someone, and she'd long since forgotten how to keep the walls up while warm hands and lips danced across her skin.
A hand smoothed over his shoulder, nails scraping lightly. "As the uneducated party here, I'll have to follow your lead, won't I?" She traced curious fingertips along his throat, more than happy to explore this work of a man. He was stupidly attractive, this one, admittedly moreso without the shirt. But still--
"Now be silent and put your mouth to better use."
Because time was precious when murderous council members were likely to show up at the door.