Later, drowsy and half-asleep in his bed, she would think that surely his jaw must ache from this, surely his wrist hurt. His knees and back must have been in agony from the unforgiving floor. But he never complained, pausing only to hike her unceremoniously to her knees, rolling over so she could straddle his face. (That seemed to be his favourite, and it soon became her favourite too—feeling him beneath her sent jolts of adrenaline up her spine, such pleasure she got drunk off it, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him, huffing ragged, sorrowful breaths as she did so. He would reward her by sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh.) 