She notices that little detail, too; it brings everything into even sharper focus. They're really doing this, it's really happening, if the wrong people find out they'll think her a fallen woman (not that in her position she has too far to fall). And she couldn't be happier.

"Of course not," she murmurs. "How could I?" But he's already tugging at her dress, already pressing kisses to her skin, and the closer he gets the more she trembles with need.

She's not self-conscious or even strictly speaking shy, but it does unnerve her to watch him watching her with such -- admiration, perhaps? It's a look she likes, but not one she's used to seeing aimed at herself. "Thank you," she says, and she wraps her arms around him, whimpering just slightly at the way their bodies press together.