Loxley's bright smile back at her falters, but the dimming isn't for reasons of having nothing to smile about. Just the catch in his breath when she moves against him, the bodily twitch of interest out of him, like he'd like to meet that movement himself.

Or roll her over, which he doesn't do. Not because it's exactly what he wants, but it's a habit, isn't it, the instinct to show up, to delight and surprise, as oppose to accept. His thoughts don't stray very far in that direction, more focused on things like the smoothness of her skin, the playful slide of his palm over her ass as he curls in a little to nudge a kiss to her mouth.

"I would like to still," he affirms, humour laced through there, but voice hollower and husky with a very serious amount of want.