She thinks he might be pleasantly surprised to discover just how different the reality will be compared to his imagination. But that's a surprise for another night.

The smell of sex permeates the air, and she grins, still vaguely feeling the place where his fingertips dug into her hips. It's been a long damned day, and it's getting difficult to keep her eyes open, even as she stands in front of the wash basin and cleans up with a flannel.

Her lips purse in amusement at the state of her hair. She hasn't even been well-shagged yet, and it still looks good on her. A few moments of toying with it and she gives up. Again, she has a debate with her Id, telling it firmly that no, she's not going to waltz back out there wearing nothing. He might die of a heart attack. Or worse, he might take it entirely the wrong way.

She said she'd wait, and wait she will, if it kills her.

The water from the tap isn't cold enough, she thinks.

A few minutes later, she emerges, humming a drowsy little tune under her breath. 'All yours.'