He whimpers, very softly, in the back of his throat. The way he was sprawled and she's leaning over him, she's liable to end up in his lap eventually. She's lucky he hasn't dropped his glass and spilled very expensive scotch all over her sofa, really.

His cheek smells like soap and whiskey, and of course he needs a shave again, but he turns his head and gives her his lips instead.