That’s embarrassing to hear, and it reflects on her face. Her eyes narrow as she bites down on her lip, then lifts her leg just enough to give his ankle a swift kick. “Don’t make me regret this,” she grumbles, the threat half-hearted at best. She doesn’t bother lifting her head, still pressed against him, too damn warm and comfortable for her own good.

Her body aches in that spent, unfamiliar way, and even the thought of standing makes her wince. Still, when he offers to carry her, she scoffs. The idea isn’t appealing—makes her feel weak—but deep down, she knows she’ll need the help getting to the bath. “You don’t have somewhere else to be?” There’s a hint of curiosity in her tone, wondering if there’s somewhere more important he should be.