Peitho wanted to gloat that she had Aphrodite in her hands for whatever she wanted, but it was hard to gloat at something as beautiful as Aphrodite in the flesh. Or, not quite in the flesh.
But there was no denying the pleasure of it, after having spent her days being commanded by Aphrodite on Olympus, as a handmaiden and a herald, when her position should have afforded her a greater place. (And, as always, there was a small sense of betrayal when it came to Aphrodite; born of Ouranos, Peitho's own aunt by that measure, Aphrodite should have been a Titan by all rights, and yet she was one of them, the usurpers who came after. It tasted bitter to Peitho.)
So she touched Aphrodite as commanded, as begged. There was a momentary glare hidden behind her eyes, but still Peitho dropped down to her knees in front of Aphrodite, hands smoothing across her thighs, leaning in to breath her in.