[ While she doesn't flinch or falter, the hand on her side, the firm tightness of it snaps her out of her reverie. Marks and bruises are something she can't abide by, the mental alarm bells scream for her to put a stop to it, despite the fact everything else is worth continuing.

Never letting the dance of mouths and tongues miss a beat, her arm glides between hers to pry her off and pin her to the nearest wall as if this was all part of the choreography. ]