He doesn't need the sweet noise of her murmurs, but he does like them. He's gotten better with his Russian, which is not quite Ravkan, and better with his Ravkan as well, as he's known Nina. The Suli, at least, is a cousin of his own Romany, and he murmurs back to it, sweet and soft and filthy.

He moves, slow at first but building. He catches one of her legs and hauls her close, holds her close.

He tucks his mouth down against her neck and swears under his breath.