"No," she said—too sharp, then softer to match the room, "Don't… wriggle."
The corners of his mouth pulled, not in triumph, in relief. "Understood." He leaned back in, barely. He was absurdly careful with her mouth in a place where stone and bone had done nothing carefully for hours.
Why are you noticing his jaw. The thought came hot and petty. The line of it bothered her. It was made for heavier things than jokes. A jaw like that should have belonged to a man who chose silence more often than not. She disliked that the mismatch fascinated her.
