He'd never hear the end of it if he showed up at HQ with marks all over his skin, so he was glad she was being moderate. Tipping his head back, he let her explore, unable to hold back a low noise of approval when she finds a particularly sensitive spot on the side of his neck. Where her lips explored, he wanted to explore, too. He wanted his hands in her hair and on her body in places he'd only thought about idly before.

His notion to touch her a little more intimately was interrupted by the tugging at his shirt. Obliging, he removed the offending cloth, seeking her eyes again as he tossed it onto the floor. Marks and scars peppered his lean, toned muscles, and the curve of his shoulders was a clear indication of his vocation. Could she tell from this that he was a soldier, a killer, anything more than a sportsman archer?

Not that he cared, really, as he settled his hands at her waist and began moving them higher.