[It isn't something he's said in so many words, but as accustomed as he is to casual encounters of this nature, rarely does it ever become a continual pattern for him. Rarely is it ever the same person more than once or twice. Circumstances don't really allow it; work so often gets in the way. Maybe she understands that, too, dutiful as she is — and that understanding is what allows the walls of obligation to soften a little now, while they're out of sight of the rest of the world.

Tyki enjoys the heat at her neck, pressing a kiss down low where the ridges of a slender spine vanish beneath the collar of her dress. Meanwhile his fingers continue their wandering, though their true goal is the place that has her reacting like that, her shivering felt between them in the half-embrace. He only strokes gently for now, callused fingertips rubbing across the fabric of underwear to get a sense of what kind of panties she's wearing underneath the dress, and to coax that wetness into a dark, deepening desire. Another kiss finds the curve of Clorinde's throat, neat and chaste by comparison to his hand between her legs.]

Oh, you know me. [Does she really?] Preoccupied as ever. I couldn't stop thinking about it, since you worked me up to such a stir beforehand. I'm not so well-behaved, but then again, I suppose I wasn't the one working tonight.

[It isn't something Tyki hides, since she'll feel it against her — how hard he is in his slacks, at odds with his seeming composure.]