Her breath is hot, angling down into his hair and across his neck, and it makes him forget to be polite with her for a moment. Free of his shirt now, the unbuttoned cuffs falling away from his wrists easily, he can bring his hands up to touch her. He can tell--he's trained himself to tell--what her body's doing.

It's the first time he thinks he understands it, though. And based on his very limited understanding...

One hand slides into her hair, to pull her in for a kiss. The other settles just below her breast, pressing upwards to feel the shape and soft weight filling his palm.

Something pops in his brain, a fuse overloading, some capacity for detachment burning away.