Her words crash into him, relief settling in the pit of his stomach with something else; something much more primal. Judging the distance between their feet so he doesn't get a stiletto through his toe in the process, Tony gently turns her with his other hand, pushing at her hip until her backside is flush against his rapidly forming interest. Satisfied with their arrangement, the hand that never left her center lightly moves over her underwear, catching on sensitive parts and rubbing the tips of his fingers over them through the fabric - his blunt nails providing added friction.

Tony's eyes dart up from his task, wide and wanting, to catch hers in the mirror; to watch her come apart. He wants this to be all about her, his birthday or not. There are much more important milestones taking place this night, and he's all too ready to give up his crown. "Look at yourself," he murmurs into her ear. "Look at how sexy you are. How perfect." How could he not want to spend the rest of his life with her, being the ultimate implication.