He starts to get that somewhere between her teeth narrowing on his lip and the grind of her over top of him. At the time it'd seemed like the sensible thing to do, but he's regretting that done up zipper now as he breathes into her mouth, fingers closing on her naked thigh as she rocks against him. Her shirt's all rucked up against his forearm, the swell of the underside of her breasts just visible there - and he presses against her chest with the heel of his palm, his nose to her cheek as she kisses and bites.

It's honestly not that hard to ignore the bullshit: the soap on the holo, the slightly stale taste of the air, the fact that they've got a few hours and then he should really think about sliding out the proverbial back door. Right now he finds himself preoccupied with wresting his mouth away from hers, kissing and licking at the underside of her jaw, the line of Chloe's neck. Eventually he shifts his hand under her shirt to catch the rumbled fabric, peeling it up, fingers fisted in the knit and knuckles against her collar bone as his mouth finds where his fingers had set before.