[Score one for creativity. He watches her, grinning appreciatively.] Got it.
[His gloved hand moves to his mouth and he bites the tip of the middle finger to tug it off. His newly bare hand lands on the sofa, reaching past her shoulder as close as his damned barrier allows. With one last sly glance he leans down, breathing hotly over the crook of her neck, the cloth fingers of his glove tracing the area where skin meets black cloth.]