Shifting her hips enough to make his efforts a touch easier interrupts the carefully measured rhythm she'd been maintaining. Gives her wrist a break, though there's still the matter of a taut wasitband digging into the side of her hip, and the difference in height with her balance all shifted that puts her mouth somewhere near his jaw in the space between it and the corner of his mouth.

And while she might normally grin and joke about it all (probably mutter something stupid and soothing in the same breath: 'easy tiger' or a phrase equally as cliche), it's been months more for her.

She could've lessened the interval of course. It's not like there was any promise he'd find his way here, or that there was any shortage of able-bodied humans going about their business within reach-- Christ, there was Nate. Nate without a future or the promise of a wedding band about his finger, and god knows if she'd relied on anyone while they were both in the thick of it, it was him.

For whatever reason, she never felt compelled to slake that need.