That gets a laugh, quiet and smokey. "Perhaps I will when I next place in a tourney," Loxley says, humour still there but all slightly breathless and distracted. "Or much sooner."

He can still feel where her fingers clutched his shoulders, feels both the conscious and unconscious movement of her body both against his own as well as the way it makes the bedframe shiver a little, and chases that gathering slickness between her legs with touches that gentle and firm up. His face tips a little beneath her hands, gaze shifting between her two eyes.

"But I can stop," he says. Teasing and true at the same time. "Is that what you want?"