[ He seeks a threat from her, but Navia's only answer is to laugh, a sweet sound marked more with pleasure than it is amusement. She could respond, could find something to say to admonish, to tease, but the toy is already thrumming inside her, an aching pleasure matched only by the promise of his cock throbbing between them, flushed and swollen with his pleasure. It would be so easy to just push the flimsy lace of her lingerie aside—

(something he's already doing, leaving her to gasp and moan on an arch of her hips as his thumb grazes deliberately over her clit)

—to crawl up over his front and just seat herself on him, let him take her against the wall where even the slightest of movements in the wrong direction might splay their shadows for all to see. Even now, he's warning her, telling her the neighbors will hear, and Navia answers by taking him into her hand, a slow stroke from base all the way to tip, fingers smearing across the pre and smudging it back into his skin on the downstroke that follows. She laughs, and her free hand grips at his jaw, drawing him up so that she might kiss him again, a playful— hungry— nudge of her mouth against his. ]

And if they do? [ Her voice is breathy with the same need that has her hips rolling in search of further touch from him, that has her fingers finding a slow rhythm over him, matching each stroke for a pulse of the toy inside her. ] I am a grown woman, Your Grace; no one should have any objections to me taking my pleasure as I see fit.

[ She smiles, teeth tugging at his lower lip. ]

So let them hear.