Why, Mister Graves. [ he's smiling still, nails scraping along his nape as he stretches out his neck for more of that treatment - but he clicks his tongue slightly and casually grasps the wrist of the hand slipping under his skirt so that he can pull it away - even if he's leaning into the light kisses. ]

What kind of girl would I be if I let you sneak dessert before you had dinner?

[ there's something sharp in his eyes though, like he has something planned. ] Now, if you had an appetizer in mind...