Instead of as it happens or just mouthing platonic workwife back to him, she is pleasantly content to be kissed — to draw one into several, languid and unhurried, stretching that moment between them. Probably they should disentangle, clean up — she has a bed she's meant to be sleeping in that isn't this one — but it's hard to think of a good reason to hurry any of that along when he's so warm and near and tastes like sweet wine and sex.

It is hard to decide if she wants to point out he doesn't need to specify rifter, or if it's much funnier to imagine that he will, although—

“Don't make it sound like you want to hear all about Loxley,” she says, “unless you do, in which case by all means.”

Derrica's knowledge of birth control and her knowledge of rifter sex may be two separate conversations.