That one-eighty had been far too drastic -- he'd had customers who eased and gained absurd confidence in private despite public shyness, and customers who went from swaggering braggarts to meek and subservient behind closed doors. But there was always a period of hesitation, testing the waters as they figured out how they best liked it or how well that might be recieved. He could always tell which was the more honest side and which was a matter of public face or embracing a role in private.

Here, suddenly, he was uncertain, for once opening a book and finding the words inside in some foreign language. Gods, was that just a play at shyness before? Or was this a role being tried on with the confidence granted by knowing anything would be accepted? Was--

He nearly stumbled back, surprised to realize how far back he'd been crowded. Saralegui steadied himself, but found himself pinned between the bedframe and the leg between his. For a moment he just blinked, hips shifting almost uncertainly as if unsure whether to back off or pursue the friction.

Shit. He was hesitating too long. What did this customer want, then? Had he liked the bit of teasing, or was he seeking a chance to dominate? He swallowed, paused a moment too long for his own liking.

"I--" The word caught in his throat, and the decision felt made for him. Betting on shyness, he let his gaze drop and tried to convince himself the redness in his face was all intentional. "You embarass me, sir. I couldn't..."