"You look great, you always look great. Sometimes I think you're just fucking with me when you ask that," he said, shaking his head and smirking, bending a little to kiss her again. His hands lingered on her hips, squeezed. God, she got his motor running without having to try very hard at all.
"Everyone on Craigslist is a fuckin' serial killer, or a pervert. S'why you've got me around to keep you safe," he teased, sliding a hand up to touch the hem of her shirt, lifting it curiously. "What panties are you wearing?"
Conversational, like asking her what was for dinner, even as a rough, slightly-callused hand slipped up her ribcage to cup her breast through the bra and give it a playful squeeze. Subtlety and patience, two things Mike lacked but made up for in gumption and know-how.
"You're really fuckin' nervous? Babe, did you hear when I was reading that shit? She went ballistic when I showed her our pics," he laughed a little. "She thinks we're hot shit. Probably mostly you."