“Mm-hmm.” She's prepared to make good on her threat at any moment. It's happened before. This is a strictly No Work Zone.
She folds her arms under her head and lets it roll to the side, her shoulderblades and spine shifting under the thin layer of skin. “There is good,” she murmurs when he reaches the end. After two years, he knows everywhere to touch her; her nape, her shoulders, chest, the small of her back, both hip bones, the backs of her knees, her feet. That's not a full list, obviously. After a moment she helpfully wriggles out of the top half of her dress, too, folding her arms through the holes, letting it fall to her waist. The bottom half of her lingerie seat is peeking out from underneath; she went the whole nine yards, knickers and garter belt and everything, things no one's been wearing for the past ten years except for this exact purpose. She hopes this wasn't a stupid idea.