There's a loud moan from between her thighs, and Hawk doesn't need to be told twice. Have a task and do it, that's easy, and even more than he already was, it feels like his brain can switch off. His cock flexes, his face feels warm between the softness of her thighs, every breath he takes just smells like her. A man could get lost like this. Fever's already warmed up so there's no need to ease her in, he just laps at her, at the salt and heat and slickness that lets him know he's doing a good job. His whole time here has felt like rehabilitation, like walking on a leg after it's been broken. Doing things well that aren't life or death, like eating pussy or playing poker or making people laugh. What a relief.

He reaches up to pat at her backside, free hand sliding back up to her hip, caressing where he can reach. What's not to love about women, the way they feel, the way the texture of her skin changes from her thigh to her stomach, little blonde hairs and creases. Fever is perfect in the way everyone he sleeps with is, her unique features lovely and rare. He ought to tell her that, when his mouth is less busy.