[He lifts his eyebrows, half a smile.]

There's time to get it out of your system. This will be cold.

[The spray and application of the wipe let him adjust her position, altering the curve of her neck and watching the movement as his fingers press along the outlined vertebrae.]

You could do with a little more to clamp. [But he's following a different thought process now, the back of his hands reaching to test the temperature of the thin skin that pulls over her pulse points in her throat, and below her ears.]

Which do you feel more often, hot or cold?