That, now, is impossible to misinterpret. Blatant invitation and blatant consent that is quite possibly enthusiastic in it's offering and certainly returned with enthusiasm as she lets her hands trail with firm intent. No coy teasing, no trailing. The canting of her face is only enough to press their lips together with intent, matching the nip with a slow swipe of her tongue. There is room enough on the chaise to press close. To become thoroughly entangled.

Laquered nails slide delicately along black lace, catching the curve of Herian's waist, the swell of her breast. No shy thing, this, but a solid caress, a measured glide of her thumb back and forth, hoping to prompt a firm peak to awaken.