"Sean," Meredith breathes out, turning her head to kiss him again, harder now, curving toward him. It's a while before she bothers to break away the way she intended to, so she can go back to trailing kisses down his chest. The difficulty with taking things slow is she's never been that good at it, too impatient, too desperate, as much as she enjoys it. There's something to be said for it, though, that measure of anticipation, her hand gripping his hip.