Neron hasn't said anything explicitly, because he still has a healthy level of respect (and a bit of fear, though it's more a tantalising amount) for the Warden. Besides which, it's all kinds of attractive to watch her come to the conclusion on her own, his chin tilting obediently up as she examines the fangs bared at her. "What kind of man do you take me for?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper, though he still manages to sound playfully appalled.
It's not a thirst for Morgan's blood that he's got, but - well, she's already realised that mechanics are against them in that regard. And this is the next best thing. So as she bares the perfect column of her neck, Neron is stepping forward, his hands slipping around her waist, ghosting across her hips, so he can lean in and press careful, teasing kisses to the soft flesh. Some things are made to be savoured, and Morgan is definitely one of them.
