Hap groans into her mouth. He resolves not to be the man who may or may not have actually made her laugh this afternoon, all the way down in her stone prison. He won't feel any ease with Joan or act with all his knowledge of her. He'll pretend to be ignorant of what can be salvaged from such a wretched, hard woman, and deny her the cloak of worship only he has the privilege to wrap her in. She used to fuck a lot, she said. So they'll fuck.

His hate is freeflowing, overrunning. It can't direct him to do anything. His instincts are blind want. To fist his hand in her hair and bare her throat, and leave her hand to get at his cock while he pulls her pulse onto his tongue and traps it with his teeth.