The geometry changed.
Cang lifted her off him — the flat, single-motion dismount, her legs still wrapped, his arms holding, the pond water streaming off both of them as he stepped toward the bank — and she made the specific, involuntary, air-hissing sound of something being removed that her body had filed as a loss.
"—Aaah~—no—AHN~—don"t—"
He placed her on the bank.
Not gently — efficiently. The flat, specific, forward placement of both her palms on the grass, the weight on her hands, the geometry of forward-leaning and braced, Cang"s position behind her establishing the specific, comprehensive architecture of what was happening next.
She looked at the water.
She was looking at her reflection.
The mortal man, from twelve meters, could see her reflection looking back at her — the face of a woman who was in a state that her reflection was faithfully, honestly reporting.
Her mouth was open.
She was not closing it.
PAAH.
"—AAAHN~!!!—"
