"You'd be surprised," he quips back, his lips barely hovering above her skin, still so close that the swell of his bottom lip still tickles against her. Though the vines lengthen and tighten against her pulls with a dull thump as she pulls, they hold steady.

(He knows how strong they can be. Holding men down. But now the thought doesn't bring horror -- it just brings ideas of what, really, they can do.)

Better than being given permission is being given the trust to do this in the first place. And if he needn't be so polite, so chivalrous -- then he is allowed to indulge in what he enjoys. Which, often, involves someone squirming and asking for more.

He does like to think Nadine will look even more beautiful doing just that.

"In some circles, we would call this a particular term." His fingers delve between her legs, searching for wetness; there are hints of it already, and he's careful and light in the touches, exploratory as if its his first time with her. It is not yet meant to get her off. "Worshiping at the altar. Half a joke, of course," he says, mumbling the words against her breast as his mouth moves hotly towards a nipple, "... but I would not be against you being a goddess of passion and ardor, for one. You've never lacked in enthusiasm."