"Fewer clothes," he corrects, pedantic even now, knowing how it'll hit. He can be the insufferable, elitist asshole she'd assumed he was back home, the smart boy in a good coat always weighing and measuring and finding her a disappointment. It's not true--or not completely--but it works.

Reaching between them, he thumbs open her jeans, fingers working firmly, pressing and teasing her cunt through the fabric.