The only reason she's playing with his hair is because it interests her, and she rolls her eyes up in an attempt to watch his hand. Or his wrist, as it happens. Sin rarely expects declarations of fondness; she figures him sleeping with her and not booting her out yet is enough of one, words don't need to come into the equation.

"Nice. 'M gonna say you like the tongue bar, then," she murmurs with a twist of her mouth.