"Suppose you're right."

And she curls her fingers under him then, rolling the hard points of her thumbs over exposed skin, momentum of it driving her hands down to grab hold of whatever fabric's left in the way and pull his hips free; can't work properly with no space for it, after all.

"Will she mind?" The thought slips in unexpectedly. Inexplicably, even, given that she doesn't share Talbot's admiration of the woman running it all.