Something shifts, imperceptible but not, though none of them has moved.

Wine and want and Beckett's grip and the press of Bill's burgeoning erection against the curve of her ass overload her synapses and rational thought; she takes an unsteady breath and a chuckle catches low in her throat.

"Then we should get you in bed."

Her fingers flex at Beckett's scalp in a gentle massage, and she arches her body against Bill's.

"What d'you think, sweetheart?"