He's still kneeling at her side, not lying over her; she can't wrap a leg around him and draw him in. She contents herself with running her hands over him, over every inch of skin and metal she can reach, as she makes soft sounds and gives herself up to his sweet kisses and caresses.

No one in Madripoor could ever understand anything like this. Even romantic entanglements were just another way to gain power or control. They couldn't possibly understand how it feels to be so thoroughly cherished by someone who loves her so much, even though he's seen the worst of what she can be.