Sweet fuck. They definitely need to get in that bar fight at the next port, if this is what one punch can rile them into. Sweeney loves the words that escape her tongue, but he loves the rock of her hips even more. The buttons of his trousers serve as chaperone, but that doesn't mean they are leaving this room without needing to be laundered.

He yanks her head back hard as his other hand slips down her side and hooks under her hip. With the echo of a grind serving as a bookmark, Sweeney jerks her high and flush against him as he sits on his heels. His teeth steal a fresh patch of pale skin, and bear harder into it. The hand on her hip slides back towards her knee, but it doesn't make it all the way down before his fingers flex, and he rakes his nails up the interior of her thigh until the first knuckle of his thumb bumps against her.