I can't believe I'm doing this:
“The things you do to me, love…” He took several deep breaths, attempting to regain his control. “Tonight, there’s no need to rush.” He led her to the bed. “Sit, relax,” he drawled.
From the bed, she watched him intently as he went to work uncorking the champagne. She noticed the way his forearms flexed as he worked the cork out of the neck of the bottle, his fingers skilfully using the right combination of force and restraint. A sharp pop sounded, as some of the liquid rose over the rim and spilled down the side of the bottle, wetting his hand, and dripping downward. He handed her a glass, and then poured one for himself. He clinked his flute against hers. “Tonight is for us…and it’s going to be slow and drawn out, if it kills me….”
She took his champagne-drenched hand and raised it to her mouth, licking his palm.
“…which it might,” he added, with a sharp intake of breath.