She grins broadly against his thigh and presses another kiss there, this one brief and perfunctory; a silent, fond 'you're a patient, patient man.' When it comes to Liz, anyway. Red's style may be to act first, think later, but he'll wait for Liz til the cows come home.

(Literally, this one time that involved zombie livestock.)

Liz likes that.

The long lick that she bestows upon him is not a tease, and it's definitely not delivered to his leg. Another one for good measure, slower, and then she's sliding up in bed. She presses close against his side, nuzzles his neck with her nose, and reaches down to slip a hand around him.

She strokes him once; readjusts her grip (better) and strokes again, harder this time. The temperature of her hand would be causing some very unfortunate scalding right now, if this were anyone but Red, but this is Red. Liz really doesn't even think about it anymore. There are better things to think about.

Like the heat in the pit of her stomach, and the steady, firm rhythm that her hand is setting, and Red. Mostly Red.