Kissing the inside of his thigh, Meredith runs her free hand over his leg, slowly but steadily moving higher. Between the way he holds her hand and the feel of his muscles taut where she's touching him, there's something about knowing he's already waiting for her to do something and then not doing it, not yet, at least. It's her turn to draw this out, take her time with him. She turns her head, close enough for him to feel her breath, for her to feel the heat of him, and, tracing idle circles on his skin, waits.