It's good enough. She just wants easy access to his chest. She gives him a small smile. "Good." And then her knee slides from his chest and her leg rests against his. She runs one hand down his shirt, twisting her fingers in the hem and pulling down. She stretches the fabric far enough that the back of her hand presses against the bulge forming in his jeans.

"Hold still." It's all the warning she gives before the knife blade presses against the neck of his shirt. The blade is sharp enough to part the material easily, but it's also sharp enough to draw blood if he so much as twitches. She's good enough to not hurt him if he's good enough to hold perfectly still. And the knife glides lower.