Her warrior's body had its own objection to depth and she made no attempt to suppress the sound of it, the raw, involuntary 'gkk' of someone pushed past their practiced range—but his other hand had come to the back of her head and the grip was complete now, both hands, the specific cradle of palms against the back of a skull that knew exactly what it was doing.
He did not relent.
He held.
She made the sound again—'Gkk~! Gkk~!!'—and her hands flew to his thighs, pressing, the flat-palmed 'stop' signal that her combat instincts had defaulted to, and he let the depth hold for three full seconds before drawing back to the manageable range.
She gasped against him.
"—'hah'—'hah'—tribe—"
"Tribe," he confirmed.
She looked up at him with the eyes of a woman who had just conceded the opening of a negotiation under conditions she had not agreed to and was conducting her next response from inside the negotiation rather than outside it.
