He pushed back her hair, second, sweeping it around to one side so as to not get in the way of her dress. Andras's eyes never seemed to leave Feyre's as he grabbed at the 'dress' and started to peel it up off of her body and overhead. Keeping his focus on her beautiful face and only seeing his work in the peripheral felt like fire. He moved slow enough she could stop him if she changed her mind, if she didn't want to play this way, that it was agony to wait but fair. He would not cross lines that should never be met let alone crossed.