She didn't bother zipping her armor top back up as she wobbled her way out of the Runner: free of the form-hugging fabric, her high, round breasts flooded the loose tank-top undergarment she wore beneath. She crossed to the tool-strewn workbench first, and carefully set down the parcel of bomb fragments before turning back towards him and giving him a shy little smile. Then she crossed to the other workbench, the empty one, and hopped up on it first to sit, then to stretch out luxuriously while unfastening her weapon belts and shrugging off her coat.<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"Hurry,"</span>she encouraged him quietly, unwilling to risk giving herself time to develop second thoughts, or to allow the warmth in her loins to ebb.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>