The grin she flashes against the grain of his stubble doesn't last long: it's purely reactive and her attention is fixed somewhere else-- somewhere low along the scuff of fabric and skin and the feeling of him across her palm as a solid, demanding weight-- meaning his apology is unnecessary. Darling, but unnecessary, and Chloe draws herself up closer as she resumes carefully shuttling her grip, free hand returning the favor of dragging both his trousers and underwear low enough across his thighs that her bare toes can manage the rest. Deft motions that don't interrupt that friction between his legs, or the urgency she's pressing back into it where he seems to have momentarily (courteously) stalled out.