"Didn't your Ma ever tell you not to play with your goddamn food?" says Joe, arching his back against the mattress, his fingers brushing through the short hair at the nape of Web's neck. Normally, he'd have had a hard time not lifting his head, not watching Web's mouth and his hands on his skin, but now he keeps his eyes fixed on the mirror up on the ceiling.
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"Didn't your Ma ever tell you not to play with your goddamn food?" says Joe, arching his back against the mattress, his fingers brushing through the short hair at the nape of Web's neck. Normally, he'd have had a hard time not lifting his head, not watching Web's mouth and his hands on his skin, but now he keeps his eyes fixed on the mirror up on the ceiling.