"That—that—is not helping me concentrate," he hissed back at her, nipping at her bottom lip and crushing his mouth to hers as if trying to chide her through the kiss. But it was too clumsy and feeling an embrace to even hint at real reproach, and he broke off laughing, a breathless whisper. "Once I've a ship, I'll have you flushed and whining against every godsdamn mast, bend you so far over the rail it's just my grip between you and the deep," he was nuzzling at her ear, "but now I've lost fucking track of what's meant to be happening," a complaint he swiftly complicated by flicking his tongue down her collar in a sudden, lewd movement, tines tickling her sternum.