The question sends a frisson through her entire body. Her eyes close and she moans, a helpless, wanton little sigh. Her fingers curl in his hair. Her toes curl, hard. And her hips curl against his, against that point of connection she'd so desperately been trying to ignore. He makes it impossible to ignore, with those little words spoken right against her ear.

Someone more suave and together than she might have said, 'that depends on you' or 'that's up to you to decide.' With her cheek pressed against his, all Dejah can manage to utter is a simple, heartfelt, "Yeah."