Her hand don't leave his hair but she adjusts her grip now, combs her fingers through mussed waves, lingers at the base of his horns. Held so close, she can feel his chest rising and falling, commit the expression on Loxley's face to memory. The distant impulse to disengage is crowded out, looking at him.

What is there to say? Breathless and just a little shaky, Derrica comes up with nothing that equals the way Loxley looks at her now. Her habit has been to roll up and away at first opportunity, but she kisses him very softly instead.

It's so easy, wanting to be good to him. The impulse comes naturally to her, slotting in alongside every other aspect of their relationship as if it had been there all along.

"We're going to have to do that again," is as close as she gets to an acceptable sentiment. It comes with a smile, pressed against the corner of her mouth.