"You know what I like," she all but purrs with approval for the idea. Their fucking is always rough, and the idea of adding a little more spice to it is enticing. He doesn't treat her as if she's breakable, and she doesn't have to pretend she's afraid to get messy.

Again she thinks of her big bed, how soft it is and how delicious the juxtaposition of it and Sweeney's rough touches would be. She won't press, but it's a longing.

And she certainly doesn't mind it happening in her cabin, on the grass, amid her beloved flowers. (She's named each of the potted plants.)