"I would say I'm sorry, but I'm totally not," she mumbles, smoothing her hand over his chest again before she stretches, arching her back for a moment. Then she relaxes against him again, still smiling faintly, running the words over in her mind. It's no different than being spoken to in English, or it shouldn't be anyway, but they're just for her somehow. In the dark, in the stupidly early hours of the morning, in his bed, they're just for her. She doesn't need to know what he's said to feel that way.

"It's weirdly kinda hot," she admits, but then it's like everything he does is weirdly -- or not so weirdly -- kind of hot, so it doesn't surprise her much. Even now, half asleep, it makes her heart beat a little faster just to be lying next to him. She's pretty sure that's not even just the fact that she's totally into him taking over, she can't imagine ever getting over it and she's completely content with that. Everything he does is something she's into except, maybe, for climbing on chairs with a broken leg, but she can forgive that.