He was shaken out of his own drive with her thought, but only for a moment. He pulled her closer still, flush against him as his hand made its way into her shirt, against her warm, soft flesh, making him murmur into the kiss once more. He only drew away from the kiss when he needed a full breath of air, and, as rough as his voice would often tend to get, he sounded vaguely gentle, slightly vulnerable when he asked, his thickly lower-class accent finally catching up to him (because he'd quite forgotten to mask it with an air of self-discipline and proper speech), "Th'bedroom's very nice, wot."
And if it weren't for the fact that he'd had his back to the wall and had pinned himself rather steadily against it with her as a guard, he'd have been on his way there already.