"He's good like that," she manages, half-breathless from the force of the kiss.

She licks her lips once more, tasting wine and salt and Beckett, and she can't resist cupping one of Beckett's bare breasts or circling the nipple with her fingertip; it's different -- different from touching her own breasts, and different from what she's used to, rounded and firm-soft where there's always been flat muscle and solid planes.

She turns to Bill with a smirk, fingertips playing along the underside of Beckett's breast.

"Now the question's what're we gonna do with you, sheriff?"