Prickly, aren't we? I never said that. But cold, hard, and fast are not going to happen tonight. Hard, maybe. Fast, for a pace, yes, but cold? Never...

[His hand lowered, finger moving to trace a whorl on the outside of Leonard's hip, moving it in looping circles until he tickled at the crease near his groin.]

You will be a sodden, sweaty, limp, useless wreck after I'm done with you. And you'll be fortunate in that I don't mind allowing one to regain the use of their legs before they leave.