“Say heat. Say wet between my legs. Say legs. Seriously, I want you to. Stockings. Whisper it. The word is meant to be whispered.”

“Say it,” he whispers. “I missed out on this the first time. I want to hear you say it.”

“And he leans in, so carefully. Breathing and not breathing and hearts beating between us and he's so close, he's so close and I can't feel my legs anymore. I can't feel my fingers or the cold or the emptiness of this room because all I feel is him, everywhere, filling everything and he whispers"Please."He says, "Please don't shoot me for this.”

“See?" she says. "tricked you. You're always staring at your opponents eyes-but that gives you a bad peripheral view.If you want to track my arms and legs, you have to focus on my chest."I raise my eyebrow at that. "say no more.”

“He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry. Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.”

“Burn you, Nerim, that's a leg not a bloody side of beef!""As my lord says," Nerim murmured. "My lord's leg is not a side of beef. Thank you, my lord, for instructing me.”