"It is called propriety, Lucius," a paradox statement that just about loses all of its arrogant force when it is partially gasped; he does know her very well indeed. She puts up just enough of a fight to make it worthwhile when he forces her head back, and then bares her throat, eternally grateful for the power of concealing charms. Stepping out of her clothes unseeing means doing an even greater number on personal distance, and she slides her hands up to his shoulders so his robes may follow suit.

"But you are entirely lost to polite society tonight, aren't you?" Teasing comes easier than haughtiness, and she shifts just enough to press her thigh against his crotch, bless the fact that she hasn't bothered to rid herself of the heel height advantage just yet.