"Maybe," he says slyly, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm not hearing any complaints from you, am I?"

Neal presses back against her hand, wanting more contact, feeling far too good about the way her fingers move against his skin. He backs them towards the small dining nook he'd put together in his hut, hoping to find something that would approximate a wine glass. He's no stranger to drinking straight out of the bottle, but he likes to do his best to be a civilized person, most of the time.