[She grips him a little more tightly than she has to as he hoists her up in his arms, leery even now that she'll somehow be dropped or handled clumsily. He does neither, of course; any rough spots are intentional, and even then, she can't begrudge him them. She ends up sprawled on the bed, her legs spread and her eyes hungry as they stare up at him.

But it seems he wants to watch right now. Well, that suits her just fine. Let him watch; she's more than a few clothes of her own to take care of right now anyway. Rosalind rolls her shoulders back, tugging her blouse off properly. Her skirt comes next, slipped over her hips and discarded off the edge of the bed. Just stockings and her bra left, but Rosalind waits a moment, preferring to stare back up at him instead. Her expression is as arrogant as she can make it, despite the fact she's got her legs pressed tight together in an attempt to stave off some oversensitivity.]

I hardly see why I have to choose just one.

[First time, he says, and Rosalind abruptly wonders if he means for the first time in Nysa or for the first time tonight. God, and her thighs press tighter for a moment, a shiver running through her at the thought.]

You're right: I would like to ride you. And when we tire of that, you can bend me over the bed.

[She punctuates that by reaching behind her, finally unhooking the clasp and letting the lacy garment fall from her figure. It leaves them even, equally exposed and undressed, and yet somehow under his predatory gaze Ros ends up feeling more naked than ever.

Perhaps that's why she lifts one foot, resting it firmly against his chest. She's still got her stockings on, and of course it'd be a moment's work for her to take them off, but why should she?]

Take them off. Nicely, Bigby. Don't rip or tear, and you'll get a reward.