Beckett does take a certain satisfaction in the knowledge that he wants this, if it's any indication by the rumbling groan that pushes past his lips or the way in which his hips jut up against her hand. She slows, though, and eventually stops completely, wanting to draw all of this out as long as possible.

There's a drawstring keeping her pajama bottoms from sliding down over her hips; she releases her hold on him to pull it loose and shimmies, the worn-in fabric dropping to her knees and then, eventually, to her ankles with a little maneuvering before she kicks them to the foot of the bed.

Her movement brings her face level with his stomach, and she lingers there for a while, kissing down over his hipbone as each new inch is revealed by a gentle tug on his trousers.