"Hey I can be delicate when I want to be." Jack informs her, leaning into the touch of her hand.

He moves to speak but his words are halted as he watches her, the curve of her body, the shape of her breasts. Stop it, he tells himself. Pull yourself together, Jack.

He clears his throat, dry as it is, and shifts his hand, realising only now that he's been gripping into her thigh. His fingers leaving marks as he moves them away.