She still remembers her reaction when he'd first stripped in front of her. That's years ago now, soon after she'd been given her first knife. He'd been going over plans (something somewhat new to her, then) and then had simply unbuttoned his shirt and wiped off. She remembers mentally recoiling, the shock hitting her like a slap of cold water.

Quickly, she'd realized it hadn't been to tease or flirt or take advantage. He just didn't have a sense of modesty. It had taken her time to get used to, but eventually she'd gotten there.

(She also remembers how it felt that first time she'd seen him in a different light, how it seemed her heart would stutter out if she looked at his bare back for too long).

Her pulse still flutters now, but she's allowed to look her fill. So she does, admires the slant of his shoulders, the way the muscles work in his arms and stomach as he bends to pull his trousers off. There's a familiar wave of heat that settles under her skin when he straightens, left only in his shorts. Dark eyes sweep down the angle of his hips pointedly and then back up.

"Sit." Inej pats the spot next to her on the bed, fully intending to see how much he's willing to try and handle.