Mor relinquished her wine glass easily, and gasped as he pushed her against the door frame. She was astonished, yes, but also she thought that Brooks might like it if she made sounds. Or, better, it might make him frustrated, and guilty, and then he would press her harder against the door.

She tangled one hand in his hair and tugged, because Brooks was not the only one who could make it hurt. Mor raked her other hand down his back. She was frustrated by how clothed Brooks was, but there was no way around it — she would have to hope that he could feel her nails on his back through the layers.