"Stop asking me what I want," he murmurs along her chest, raising up to lick into her mouth. His body rests flush against hers, though he has the vestiges of genuine care not to pin her with his weight. Panties soaked, Hap slicks his fingers along her slit then assaults her clit with rapid strokes.

What he wants is unravel her, but untangling the knot of thorns that is Joan Dority would be long and taxing work. He can settle for taking her apart; brute forcing it the way she does a conversation. That's her cadence, isn't it? If he thought she was trembling from fear, he'd stop.