Sweeney swaggers the few remaining steps to the foot of the bed and slides his jacket off, leaving his shirt still buttoned beneath it. He casts the denim aside carelessly, his eyes never leaving hers as he presses his knee onto the edge of the bed. He's more cheeky than hungry. A dimple sinks deep when he presents himself, palms facing her.

"An' I seem ta remember the arrangement bein' that I'd let ya peek at whate'er ya like."

This is her want, so it's her rodeo.