"You're not bad yourself," he agrees like she hasn't caught him staring at her in the last day. Like he isn't now.

By the time she brushes her tongue over his lip, there is no doubt she can feel him hardening between them. "I can stop and go back to house tasks," he teases, turning his head away just enough she has to either chase him with her mouth or turn his face back to her.

And he's not thinking about whether it's alright that he wants her to chase him, expects her to protest him pulling away. Maybe there's something in these flowers making him like this, and if so, he doesn't mind.