His eyes fall on Jedao's hand, and he thinks of a dozen ways to inflict crippling pain. He thinks of a life behind him littered with broken fingers, bleeding nails, tendons flickering into relief against the flesh out of sheer strain.

"Am I to sell myself for a dram of liquor?" A tightness at his lips, a dangerous surging of tight warmth in his belly. The problem, he thinks, is that he wants to be seduced. It was the liquor doing the seducing, and Sinjir responding ably and capably, but now something else is offered.

"Or perhaps I'll just make myself too convenient to bother with," he says, dryly. "Take me now, you gorgeous stallion. Let's find an alleyway and have at."