Raylan's hands felt too rough against Malcolm's skin, like their skin reflected their class. Like his bloody angry hands didn't deserve to run along marbled silk, like he'd dirty Malcolm with touch alone. But something in him revealed in that as much as it mocked him, as much as it thrilled him, and they moved down to settle on his thighs as Malcolm sat up and back. The shifting made his hips lift up with a short sharp breath, stomach fluttering under the passing touch, and he kept his eyes up on Malcolm's face, chin falling in the barest nod of encouragement.

He was more than eager to let Malcolm continue.