It flickered through his brain, too slow on a flush of blood southward, that this was moving pretty quickly, that she was still hurt and might not want--

Christine slipped out from beneath his hands and backed up, and he looked away swiftly, the first shape of some polite excuse already shaping behind his lips.

But her legs eased over his as she moved back and settled against his hips--slight cool weight and soft pressure--and leaned down close.

He did not squeak. He did sometimes purr, a little.

She was beautiful and sweet and kissing him. (Sent a shiver of heat down his spine and he shifted gently under her, angled his thigh slightly; she was cool to the touch but not all over.)

Hopefully she didn't mind being held, didn't mind hands warm and close on the small of her back.