It's not a wrong thing to say, but it hurts to hear. Like a hand pressing a bruise, raising a dull, twinging sort of pain. He's here, and that is a blessing. He's here, and nothing could stop him from going.

And somewhere, farther, a flicker of awareness about what she's doing in seeking this kind of comfort from Loxley. Derrica has had sex in which she is incidental, and so is her chosen partner. This is not that.

Neither sensation is enough to rattle her from the ease of sliding in towards Loxley, cinching in close, her own thighs tightening around his as she links her calf beneath him. This is good. Better. The quality of the kiss warms, opens under his mouth as his hand trails over her skin. Derrica's fingers leave his face, slip down his neck to his shoulders, holding there before she murmurs, "Come here," with the coaxing pull of her hands, asking for what Loxley had balked at: to let him settle over her, let his weight bear her down into the mattress. Derrica's fingers dig in at his shoulders, saying right up against his mouth, "I want you, Loxley. I want you inside me, please."

No, it's not distraction. It's something else, a different weight to the way their bodies meet on this particular night.