"This position," she said finally, aiming for neutrality, "is… functional. For balance."
He coughed a laugh, quiet, disbelieving, almost tender. "Functional," he repeated. His eyes softened, though his mouth twitched as if fighting humor. "Understood."
Her gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. She turned away, pretending to study the straps. Her lips still tingled. Her thighs still burned with the memory of pressure. And inside, against all training, she wanted the next accident.
"Okay… now—where is 'down'?"
The answer was not friendly.
