A crack of light falls upon Olivia's face as she shifts her body closer towards the other side of the bed. Pulling her legs up to her abdomen she sighs deeply, her arm stretching out across the mattress in search of the warm body that's supposed to be laying next to her. However, Olivia's met with cool sheets and thin air instead. Cracking one eye open to find his spot empty, indeed. A small sound of protest rolls up her throat, suffocated by a drawn-out yawn.

Elliot's already up, she realizes, her mind still foggy with sleep.

There's an immediate huff of disappointment as she lets herself sink deeper into the mattress, contemplating whether she should get up now, or close her eyes for a little while longer. There's a stickiness from this morning's activities, fluids between her legs and thighs that should probably make her feel gross–at least a little uncomfortable–but instead a contented smile settles on her face. She embraces the traces of their sensual tryst, her cheeks tinging with heat as she bites her lip, succumbing to a moment of reminiscing.

The sex had been incredible, and with the memory still fresh on her mind and the feeling of Elliot leaving the sweetest sensation inside her, her appetite for him is whetted. There's still a hint of his kiss, of his touch lingering on her skin, making her stomach tumble and turn with arousal. Thinking about it, she could spend the rest of this trip right here, with Elliot between the sheets. But they've already made plans to go into a small town today, so she figures she'll settle for more sex in the evening and decides to get up and start her day. Reluctantly she rubs a hand over her face and rolls onto her back, stretching her legs and taking a deep breath. She should take a shower. Also, she needs her morning coffee and a little something to eat.

The cabin is quiet as she walks downstairs. The kitchen and living room are deserted, no sign of Elliot anywhere except a lone coffee cup on the island. He's probably out for a run, given how long she slept, or maybe he wasn't sure if she'd get up anytime soon and decided to head into town without her for now.

Olivia makes fresh coffee, because what's left in the french press hardly passes as lukewarm, and she needs a proper, hot dose of caffeine. It's almost finished brewing by the time Elliot's voice filters in from outside, and a moment later the screen door to the porch opens as he keeps talking, holding up his phone, obviously in the middle of a video call. He's in that dark blue henley she loves so much, and a pair of comfortable sweats and tennis shoes, and getting every single piece of clothing off of him shouldn't be the first thing that comes to mind when she hears his kid's voice on the line, but goddamn it, they've missed out on plenty lately, so who can blame her–especially after he got her hooked this morning.

Elliot's gaze meets hers, and if he can read her mind, he doesn't let it show. He tells her good morning, his voice hushed as Eli talks about wanting to stay at his friend Leo's for the night, as his father interrupts him.

"Yeah, that's all right. Hey, Eli, pass the phone to Noah, tell him his sleepyhead of a mother is finally up." He crosses the room and steps around the kitchen island, handing her the phone as she swats his arm, gaping at him. Before she can come up with a proper retort her son's head full of curls pops up on the screen, and she refocuses, just barely catching when Elliot says something about waiting with breakfast on the porch.

The talk with her kid is sweet. Noah excitedly tells her about his weekend so far, about the movie he's going to see at the movie theater with Eli and Kathleen later, after pizza for lunch and ice cream for dessert. Olivia's relieved that he's having a good time without her after how disappointed he was when she explained to him he couldn't come with them, her conscience bleeding at the realization of going on a vacation with Elliot when she never did with Noah, save Paris–and he doesn't even remember that. The guilt sits, a firm knot in her stomach, but maybe it's not warranted with how Noah's beaming at her, maybe she puts too much emphasis on what she didn't do, or should've done while her kid's perfectly fine. Plus, Elliot already suggested they come back to this area with the kids in the summer, do this properly, the three or four of them. Noah's clearly enjoying himself, so she shouldn't feel bad for doing the same, not when she feels with every fiber how necessary this reprieve is for her mental health. It's been years since she truly took time for just herself, to recharge her batteries. A few short hours to treat herself at a spa to momentarily patch things up are far from enough, and like Lindstrom told her: there's no shame in taking some time to focus on solely herself.

They talk for a few minutes and hang up after about ten blown kisses and twenty goodbyes, and God, she loves that kid, and she can't wait to wrap her arms around him and breathe him in with half her face hidden in his curls, but for now she's got her mind set on being here, in the moment with Elliot.

She drops Elliot's phone on the island and idly pushes down the plunger of the french press, smiling about nothing in particular while filling up two cups.

Outside he's seated at the round table on the patio that's set for the two of them, a bag that she supposes holds baked goods in the middle. There's cream cheese and her favorite jam, nothing fancy, but exactly what she wanted when she didn't even know she wanted it, making her heart fill with love and warmth as she smiles at him, his comment from earlier forgotten (and she really has been working on a comeback line ever since).

The day is beautiful, the sun high and warm on her face, but it's a little crisp without a jacket, so she decides to grab it when the coffee's on the table.

"How long have you been waiting for me?"

Elliot accepts the coffee and smiles, not quite a sly smile, but not an entirely easy one, either.

"Not too long."

And that right there, she thinks as she sees his attempt at not breaking into a grin, is bullshit.

"You could've woken me up," she offers, but in secret she's glad that he didn't, because some sleep was absolutely necessary after exorcizing Lewis last night. Speaking of which, the envelope, now void of the photos Lewis took, sits on the empty chair to her right. Elliot must have picked it up when he cleaned up out here; the fire bowl is back in the corner, and he put away her beer bottle, blanket, and the coffee cups she left behind.

"Nah, you needed it. Slept like a log."

Apparently she did, because as she made the coffee the clock caught her eye and it's past noon, so she got a solid five hours and then a bit.

"Figured you'd be hungry. I hope croissants and bagels are okay. They were about sold out; I got there right before they closed up."

"Perfect." Her mouth waters at 'croissants' and once she has her jacket draped over her shoulders she sits while Elliot opens the paper bag, allowing her to help herself. The croissants are massive in size, and she takes an unapologetic bite, her eyes slipping closed as the pastry melts on her tongue.

"Hm… thanks. So you've been to town?" Olivia wipes a crumb off her lip and puts the croissant down to open the jam.

"Just the bakery, for now. You wanted to go today, right?"

She wants that, but then she can also think of other things to do, and they all have to do with him and their room upstairs–or, as she told him the night they arrived, every other surface in this cabin. She did the talk then, and she knows she has to do the walk, and she's firmly planned on putting on the 200 dollars worth of lace-trimmed silk that's neatly hidden in the side pocket of her suitcase today. Tonight , she chastises herself. Because how awkward would it be if she sashayed into the room wearing a nightgown, however short and saucy, in the middle of the day? Something tells her that this one is intended for much later, when they sit by the fire, both of them a little bit drunk on wine and love. Maybe she needs the liquid courage that'll hopefully help to shut off her mind, that will stop it from spinning too fast so she'll finally be able to show him or tell him (or both) what she really wants, what she's been wanting for a while now, and didn't quite know how to say, not with everything else that made life so goddamn complicated for them. But tonight is good, she's got her issue worked through and her shit together, and she's going to leave this place only when she's been properly fucked by Elliot.

She realizes he's waiting for an answer, and suddenly there's heat in her face and ears, making her feel caught , and she wonders if he can read her mind as he cocks his head. She chokes out a reply. "Yeah. If you want."

Olivia wants to know if Elliot's fully aware that she's daydreaming about getting her brains screwed out later, that she wouldn't mind if he took her right here, right now, on the patio, either, and Jesus fucking Christ, what is happening with her, because she hasn't been this hungry for sex since… before .

The last time she had this kind of sex drive that made spend all weekend in bed was probably when she first started seeing Cassidy, when things between them were easy and casual – mediocre restaurants, great sex and no strings attached.

This, here? It's a whole lot better than that, and she's not going to leave her libido disappointed.

They've still got four days, she reminds herself. She can barely talk behind her smile and those thoughts, so she quickly takes another bite of croissant, the jam all but forgotten.

When Elliot brings up the kids and their plans for today, she's grateful, because she's not sure she could've shifted her focus away from the things she wants to do with him.

They enjoy breakfast, and Elliot's about to get up to clean up when once again the envelope catches her eye.

"Wait, I want to show you something."

"Okay." His eyes are on her now, warm and expectant. She stands, picks up the envelope and sinks down on the chair he put them in. Opening the gummy seal, she retrieves the four remaining pictures.

Elliot's hesitant to even look at them, his eyes wary as she slides his plate away and places the photographs on the table. Maybe he expects to see her anguished or violated, or possibly even Lewis' feral face, either way, he's refusing to lower his gaze until she coaxes him.

"Look at them, El."

He's rigid, now, radiating tension the soothing tone of her voice can't erase, but he does as she says. When his eyes settle on the images she's surprised he doesn't soften, instead a look of quiet desperation settles on his face. And then she remembers their conversation, when Elliot shared that there's no black and white for him, that everything surrounding the photos was a mess of muddled grays, that he still felt guilty for presenting her with the camera and the idea to have the film developed. For him, he opened Pandora's box, and he's not yet able to fully accept that with it he brought Olivia closure, however painful it was to get there.

Maybe she should let this go, just leave Elliot be, but she can't. It's not that she wants to torture him, not that she wants to see the anguish and guilt that's written all over his face, but that she wants him to see what she sees, hoping he'll find something like solace, maybe even absolution in it.

Olivia wants to believe that if she found validation in the pictures, then so can he, she just needs him to see it–see her .

"What do you see?"

Elliot takes a few seconds until he answers, his voice low and subdued, guarded. "You."

Licking her lips Olivia gives a simple nod, reminding herself that this needs patience, that this is not easy for him. Unlike her he hasn't fully integrated the trauma, so she reminds herself consciously that she's years and years ahead of him and has only revisited othe calamity with a few added layers when Elliot has only learned what has happened to her within the past year and was confronted with the entirety of her trauma and fears of abandonment all at once. They're far from standing on equal sides in this, so she's not going to push or roll her eyes because he's not there yet.

"Me," she agrees, tapping her finger against the one she likes the most, slowly sliding it further towards Elliot. I never looked at them before last night," she admits, smiling. "I'm happy in them."

His eyes lift, and there's no hesitance as she continues speaking.

"I'm happy there. With you. Because of you and everything we are. The person I am with you." She swallows when his face softens, the frown smoothed over by a hint of intrigue. "I haven't seen this woman since... not in the past ten years. Maybe not ever. And this was before we found out what else was on that film," she says softly, her chest swelling with a self-confidence that feels new but wonderful. "I was fine then, and I wasn't aware of it. I was more like my old self when you took the pictures than I knew, and if everything that happened since hadn't, I'm not so sure I'd have realized it without revisiting the trauma and… and even the fear of abandonment that still lingered. I'm not going to pretend the past couple of months weren't awful, but this process of going back and taking stock of what happened–what actually happened? Maybe it was necessary. Maybe I needed this catharsis, this opportunity to find myself, and leave everything else behind. So, I can't say that I regret that you found the camera and took these photos of me. I don't regret that we had the film developed because, despite all the hurt, it gave me a glimpse of the person I thought was lost, someone who is happier than she's ever been. Someone who's starting to feel more confident with you." Olivia leans in, her hand taking hold of his, her fingertips rolling against Elliot't palm with a need to touch and reassure him. "Someone who's free and ready to leave that son of a bitch behind." Exhaling slowly her lips lift and her eyes blur with gratitude. "What was on that camera gave me closure. You helped me find closure. You helped me find myself, Elliot. And I hope you can see it–someday."

Olivia thinks of Lindstrom and the things he said to her about consciously shifting one's point of view, a piece of advice she first frowned upon and dismissed, but found solace in when she made an effort and tried it. Idly she squeezes him, cocking her head as she sees Elliot's still absorbing her words, wondering what to think of them, what to do with them, unable to catch up so quickly, unable to process everything at once. His eyes are hazy, and the guilt is still there, if a little more vague.

"Liv-"

It's doubtful, the way he says her name, so she keeps talking, as if it's only a matter of time until he has to believe the things she says.

"You know, El, someone once told me that we can't choose what happens to us but we have a much greater choice–we get to choose what we do about them, if we focus on the negative and keep living in the past and pain, or stand above it all and thrive, because there's not ever just darkness. Much like… I try not to focus on all the times we've missed each other anymore, but the one time that really matters–when we found each other. That it all happened when and how it was always supposed to be."

She's right where she always wanted to be with the person she wanted to be with and he loves her . She's open to love and joy and life, a life that doesn't only revolve around work and motherhood. Of course she loves both, and yet she's never felt the sense of fulfillment that she's come to know with Elliot as her partner, her lover , her future .

The times of feeling lost and lonely, and truthfully often undeserving of true love, a real connection to someone are gone. With Elliot she feels secure, like she's finally found that place inside of her that feels whole, feels like home.

"Elliot, all I want is this , right here for the rest of my life. I want us to be together, open with each other, trusting each other. And I need you to trust me when I say that what happened with that camera is not on you. Okay?"

Olivia allows him a moment to breathe through this, come to grips with everything she just said. That there's no blame she places on him, or anyone, and is ready to settle into this contentment and happiness, free of guilt or shame, and free of Lewis.

Elliot can't fully conceal his hurt, his guilt, but eventually he nods at her. "Okay."

It's a relief that he can accept this without argument.

"I wanna frame this." She taps her fingers against one of the pictures and cracks into a broader smile. "As a reminder of how far we've come together. And because I really, really like it."

Elliot's stoic facial expression changes, too, his eyes finding her more steadily, his shoulders relaxing. Then there's the whisper of Elliot's breath against Olivia's hairline as he drops his face toward her, lips soft and warm against her forehead with a delicate kiss to her skin. She leans into him, into his embrace as he slips his arm around her, and although he's that solid rock of a man she feels the fragility beneath his muscles, feels that raw essence of the sensitive and caring soul he's underneath his rough and sometimes angry exterior.

"How do you always know just the right thing to say?" he mumbles and she grimaces.

"I don't, I'm just fumbling most of the time." Lifting her head just enough to look him in the eye she adds: "But everything I said just now? That's simply the way I feel. I've done a whole lot of thinking last night, and it was… eye opening. So were the pictures. I'm glad you took 'em."

"That's… I'm glad you can look at it this way. I don't think I'm quite there yet."

"And that's okay," she whispers in reassurance, cupping his cheek gently, feeling him melt into her caress.

"I'll get there." It sounds like he's trying to convince her, quiet urgency swimming in his voice, but it's not like she needs convincing when she has trust in the inevitable.

"I know."

The town of Winklesville (Olivia had immediately rolled her eyes, snorting: "Winklesville? Really?" only to have Elliot explain to her that Rip Van Winkle is from near here.) is a quaint and idyllic place.

"First of all, I'm impressed that Rip Van Winkle means anything to you. Secondly, you do know he's a fictional character, right?" She inquired as they strolled main street's pedestrians zone hand in hand, taking in the Victorian structures containing small shops.

Laughing, Elliot explained that he's been to the Catskills a few too many times to not have heard the legend of Rip Van Winkle.

Olivia had underestimated how well-frequented main street would be. They'd avoided Black Friday crowds, but Thanksgiving was still the busiest shopping weekend of the year. Most of the shops are looking for a quick sale, and from what Olivia can tell they are drawing in the tourists with no problem.

They pass a second ice cream shop–it might as well be the third, when Olivia spots a little art gallery exhibiting abstract works of local artists that makes her stop, immediately piquing her curiosity.

"Wanna go in?"

"Would you mind?" She asks hopefully.

"Not at all." Elliot nods his head towards the entrance. "Let's go."

The gallery, much different from most other establishments on main street, is pretty much unoccupied. There's one other much younger couple taking a look at the paintings and the few sculptures on display. The space is small and simple, three white walls opening out to the window facade, dark wooden floors and three pedestals centered in the room.

When Olivia sees it, her response is immediate. It's unadulterated awe, her eyes incomprehensibly fixing on the artwork that doesn't allow for her to take them off of the shapes and colors, the supposed haphazardness of paint meeting canvas.

She's seen plenty of art in her lifetime, visited her fair share of galleries, and she'd liked what she saw before, thought of the pieces exhibited as moving or beautiful, but this… this goes beyond all that.

It resonates with her on a deeper level than she could explain. She simply feels it, a connection, the emotions and physical reactions this piece educes from her, having her breath quite literally taken, a pleasant shudder of excitement flashing through her body, and that strange sense of a connection with this work, as if she knows exactly what its artist felt, what they intended to express.

This painting feels like her very heart beating outside her chest, surviving in this world, protected from any cruelty and acts of God by that special 'something', a push and pull between utter beauty and toe-curling threat of underlying terror.

It's only when she hears Elliot gently calling her name, his hand pressing into her hip that she quite literally snaps out of it, refocusing. Truth be told, she doesn't even remember how she got over here from the front of the gallery. Her gaze is now on the small tag, stating the Title– POSE! -and the price, and she knew. Knew that there was some reason this painting spoke to her just as well as she knew she wasn't going to be able to afford it. Not after the expenses of this trip, even though they split the cost–certainly not with Christmas right around a corner and her family that grew to about a dozen people.

"Liv?"

"Sorry," she says quickly, tearing her eyes off of the price tag. "I really like this one. Something about it reminds me of…" She shakes her head slowly, unable to put it into words. "...there's just something about it."

"It's nice," Elliot offers, but clearly he doesn't see what she sees, doesn't get that same feeling of belonging , that sense of falling fully into the depths of it.

"You wanna look at the others?" he asks carefully, aware that she's having some kind of moment .

She doesn't. She really doesn't, because none of the other artwork can compare to how deeply she's been touched, to this electrifying tingling deep in her gut, but she can't very well say that when she was the one who wanted to visit the gallery, so despite her lack of interest she puts on a smile.

"Sure."

The other pieces hold no appeal, none of them remotely as appealing as the one Olivia lost her heart to, and they are back outside within five minutes. All of a sudden she feels… something like sadness, like she's leaving something vital behind. She never thought a painting could make her feel this way, make her feel any way other than liking or disliking what she saw. Either way, she'll have to move on and not let this ruin her day because it's too expensive to treat herself with a piece of art.

It's not easy tearing herself away, but she sets her spirit to exploring this town with Elliot, all the other small shops that sell clothes and jewelry, fudge and books or the cozy little cafes with their inviting aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and pastries. They've come here to spend some time together, and while it's a little too crowded to feel very romantic, she's still glad they came here.

They're back after a scrumptious dinner at the one fancy dining place in Winklesville, both quite happy and satiated, but also exhausted. They were in town for much longer than Olivia anticipated. After some coffee they visited the tiny local history museum and most of the shops on main street where they ended up with more kitsch and clutter from the souvenir shops than she likes to admit. Elliot got Eli one of those terrible t-shirts stating: "My Dad went to the Catskills and all I got was this stupid t-shirt." He wanted to get one for Noah, too, but a t-shirt saying 'Dad' seemed a little too assumptive and Olivia decidedly refused to rub salt into the wound, reminding him they went without him. She got him a shirt for Orpheum Dance Theater instead, deciding should they come back here in the summer, she's definitely going to take Noah there for a show.

Besides a little something for both Maureen and Kathleen as a thank-you for keeping an eye on the boys, some Winklesville Fudge for her squad, two bottles of a rather pricey wine to enjoy between the two of them back here and finally dinner had them spending far more than Olivia intended. She'd clearly underestimated the power and importance of souvenirs within the Stabler family, and when Elliot thought of getting something for Ayanna and Jet, she felt it was only fair to do the same for her people.

Dropping the bags, Olivia sighs, glad to be back at the cabin after being on her feet for the past five or six hours, something she definitely isn't used to these days. She craves to put her feet up with a large glass of wine nearby, but the fudge and some of the other local specialities need to be refrigerated, and while she's at it she might as well stow everything else away in the suitcases. While it's not much it feels overwhelming. She rather wants to be done with it sooner than later, so when Elliot enters the cabin moments after her and locks up, she's already unpacking.

"Want some help with that?"

"No, that's okay. I'm almost done."

Elliot steps up behind her. Since they left the gallery she tried not to let her disappointment show, but Elliot's definitely picked up on something.

"Everything okay? You look tired." He squeezes her arms gently and she drops her head just slightly as she inhales softly.

It's not that she didn't have a good time. She did. The town with all its shops was lovely, and the food at the restaurant was great, but she can't deny that this painting has touched something within her that she's not entirely over, something she lacks the words to explain to Elliot.

"I'm good," she says around a weak smile. "A little exhausted."

"You sure about that?"

She tells herself she's not lying, not really, but it's not just exhaustion that has her a little too quiet, pensive, and she realizes too late that she didn't give an answer.

"You really liked that painting, didn't you?"

There's relief in how well he knows her, that he noticed that she connected to the art, and she thinks she couldn't possibly love him more. Elliot's arms slip around her middle as he places a simple kiss on her left shoulder, and she wants nothing more than to assure him that she had a wonderful time with him, that her slightly dampened mood was not because anything was lacking. It makes her want to appreciate him and enjoy the evening even more, because it's what Elliot deserves–her full attention, not some inexplicable sadness over money she did not have to spend. Taking a breath she pivots, her face softening now that she looks at him, and when she speaks, she almost chokes up, because this, being here with him, is so much more important than anything else.

"I really like you," she deflects sweetly. "I'm sorry if I ruined this for you."

There's the slightest twitch in his chin as his eyes narrow and he pulls her into a hug.

"Didn't ruin anything, Liv," he says, voice low and deep. "Couldn't if you tried."

She buzzes with the proximity, with the pressure of his chest against hers, his arms locked around her in a firm hold, and all she can think of is that she wants to kiss him, that she wants to kiss until she's senseless and boneless and everything in between. His fingertips push against the small of her back, and it sends her tumbling with arousal as she thinks of this morning, when she let her mind wander to all the things she wants to do with him. They are more than set, because there's the wine on the counter and enough wood to start a fire, and tucked away in her suitcase the ruby-colored nightgown she hopes will be a heartstopper is waiting to be slipped on for this very occasion. She raises her head, lingers in the moment for a little while longer, arousal coiling within her as she anticipates whatever comes next. She waits and waits, maybe for him to push her against the kitchen island with his whole weight, or for his lips on hers, taking and tasting her until she can't breathe, until she gets dizzy with a lack of oxygen. She waits him out, but instead of doing anything, he merely looks at her face, muttering: "You're beautiful."

Olivia's speechless and when she doesn't make a move Elliot releases her and takes a step back, and she's close to grabbing him by his shirt and yanking him back against her wanting body, but she thinks better of it, chasing his lips in a slow, subdued fashion. The kiss is soft and sensual, and Olivia's aching for more. Instead she pulls away, voice dropping.

"How about I take care of this, you get a fire going, and I'll meet you on the couch with a bottle of wine in five?"

Now, he's alert, half grinning, gaze on her as she bites her lip.

"I'll be there."

"I'll be back in a few." She pulls away slowly, awkwardly pushing against his chest. If she doesn't stop this thing now their kisses and touches are inevitably going to become heated, and she's not going to be able to tear herself away when that happens, and truthfully, she kind of wants Elliot to think that she's hitting the brakes, have him wonder if this is as much as they'll do tonight.

His hands had lazily started to stroke her thigh and she gathered all her willpower to sit through it for a few minutes trying to come off a lot less affected than she was when all she could think was how she wanted to jump him.

She prayed he didn't realize that the wine had little to do with her flushed cheeks when he drew circles with his thumbs, getting dangerously close to where she was throbbing with need, or the way she was biting back a moan when he looked at her, trying to gauge if it was worth making a more bold move. She'd smiled at him sheepishly, licking her lips, and then he was kissing her. It was innocent enough until now, until he pried her lips apart with his tongue and she felt her own restraint slip away, her entire body responding to his hand slipping underneath her top. There was no more space between them. A moan was crawling up her throat when she felt him hard in his pants against her thigh, and so she gently put her hands to his chest and stopped the action, pleased to see a moment's confusion followed by disappointment flitting across his face when he caught her smiling somewhat coyly, starting to worry her bottom lip.

"Something wrong?"

"Just wanna change into something a little more comfortable," she says, apologetic, suppressing the smirk that desperately wants to spread, simultaneously shifting her body further away from him. His hand materializes from under her sweater, and suddenly he seems uncertain what to do with it, awkwardly dropping it on his thigh.

Elliot's looking at her, nodding as she places a single, seemingly final kiss on his lips.

"You're not upset, are you?" She asks hopefully, and God, she's really pushing it here, because his expression falls a little more as she puts the final nail in the coffin. He definitely doesn't think that anything's going to happen, now.

"Of course not."

"Okay."

"We can go to bed, if you want," he suggests.

It's weird now, strangely uncomfortable after she turned Elliot down, and part of her wants to spoil what's to come, reassure him that she didn't just lead him on earlier to now act like a cold fish.

"Maybe not quite yet. Another glass? We might as well finish the bottle." She's up now, finally able to think straight again, and if she wouldn't know what else is in store tonight, she'd feel sorry for Elliot. It's not how she planned it, she wasn't aware how much she wanted to be the driving force in this scenario. If she had kept engaging in this little make out session for any longer, there is no way she would have stayed in control, and more importantly, she wouldn't have made it upstairs to change into something that's going to be a lot more comfortable and much easier access, something that'll allow her to feel him in the way she wants to feel him, without the restrictions of her pants. Before she can start to feel too bad about it, she offers him a tight smile, then vanishes–with the best of intentions– upstairs, eager to make it up to him.