He can't resist a low chuckle as he pulls down another cigarette from behind the same ear and lights it. Sweeney doesn't bother clarifying the saying, just savors the drag before letting his head loll to the side to look at her.

"Now that's a monster I'll happily kept well-fed," he pokes with a lopsided smirk, twisting enough to reach over her and run a single fingertip lightly from her sternum to a few inches beneath her navel before it abandons her skin with temptation and promise.

"Bein' inside ya is..." How can he put it? Sweeney isn't sure, so he tries again.

"Feelin' ya coil 'round my fingers is a high I ain't lookin' ta quit. Yer fuckin' sublime." And he means it. He looks back to the ceiling so he can take a drag.

"So anytime you're look ta get that itch scratched, you just let me know. I'll be there with fuckin' bells on."