Marta still has a hand at the back of Ransom’s neck when he resettles on the bench, with her in his lap, knees bent and pressed into the bench on either side of his thighs. She's aware of every point of contact, the water that has pooled between their skin and beneath her knees. Her own hair is a damp, stringy mess around her face that's liable to dry semi-curly and incredibly tangled at this rate, but she's unwilling to pull away her arm to deal with it two-handed and properly; instead, Marta rakes her fingers through what's gathered of it at her forehead to clear her face.

Ransom's expression is entirely too self-assured for a man she just had to pinch in order to regain the ability to breathe air. Who told her he wanted abstinence and then kissed her senseless underwater not two whole minutes later. On the other hand? It's nice to see him like this - wet, certainly, and in her arms, definitely, but also...

More like himself when he'd won an argument she'd watched him completely derail within moments. Marta touches the back of her teeth with her tongue and rolls her eyes a little. "¡No presumas! You look like the cat with the bird it wants to eat." But she doesn't pull away, or move to stand. Her free hand travels up his thigh and against his torso before moving up his chest and finally joining the other, fingers interlaced behind his neck.

She scoots forward. Just a little, and resolutely does not look down. "What are we abstaining from?" Details. She needs details.