Sweeney doesn't need to read her mind to know what his own is begging. He knows damn well how skilled she is on her knees, and it's no stretch to call up the image of stepping to close the distance between them so she can practice those tricks she keeps on about.

He takes the opportunity to shift his weight with hopes of some vague reprieve from the pressure, but there's little to be had. His eyes close again, and he sucks a slow breath in, grateful to be nowhere near her hair when he does. Setting his resolve along with his jaw, he manages to speak with more confidence.

"Make it ten."

He can do that, he decides, knowing there are fallbacks available if shit goes sideways.