Any further comment she might have had dies on her lips when Eirene really looks at Clark's expression. The word scorching comes to mind, though luckily not literally, and sets her to tingling in places that haven't for five years. Her head tilts to the side, to give him greater access to whatever his mouth wants to touch, and fingers curl around his elbows to keep herself from tumbling backwards.

While her brain is on a short circuiting loop, the goddess vaguely wonders where her vaunted patience gleaned over tens of thousands of years went. And her wits, too, because her suddenly barred shoulder scatters them to the four winds.

"....Clark, oh..."