His hand pulled a tortured groan out of her throat, but she'd kissed him back till he pulled away. His absence was a potent as his presence, although she could still feel him all over her.
Melpomene pulled herself sluggishly upright while he dressed, though didn't make any move to find clothes of her own, and by the time he got back she was sitting against the bedhead, wearing her bruises, her tangled hair, her sweat. There was still ouzo in the bottle, it still burned as it ever did on the way down, and she held the bottle out to him, an offering. "Till next time?"