It helps that she's relatively certain of success. And that, though she wouldn't want to admit it, she trusts him. And when he moves, she moves with him-- practiced and accustomed to the swing of his step, the reach of his arms around her.

"You'll have to wait on a notary," she nearly purrs in response. Wide-eyed through the dark screen of lashes, she smirks up at him. She doesn't mind letting him lead, in the piece; as long as it's her careful choreography of expectation. She leans up and forward, lips brushing his ear gently.

"Worry about it in the morning?"