Oh, how could he refuse? He kisses her neck, first, mouths along the curve of her shoulder, teeth rasping gently over her skin, just a reminder—his, now, and he hers.

His fingers pull at the ties, loosen them enough that the bodice relents under his hands as he peels it away from her skin, holds it in place so that she can extract her arms. He leaves it at her waist—she can shimmy free later, but he keeps his attention and hands on her newly exposed skin—

—so much better than the oil painting—

—one hand cupping her breast and the other smoothing over the bottom of her ribs as he continues to kiss her neck, moving to her throat, then tipping his head to he can kiss her, taking full advantage of his height to do so.