His breath drew in sharply but he steadied himself. ”Oh, is that what you want? My Summer, so…forceful. I like this.” He pressed his hand over hers and moved it down over him, meeting her eyes with a narrowed gaze. ”What shall I do with you then? Whisper all my secret longings? How I have dreamed of those fire eyes and the heat of your touch?” He leaned up into her. ”How no one has ever bewitched me so quickly? Shall I tell you of your strength, courage, ferocity? No, you must already know all of this.” He pulled her down close again. ”But I suppose it cannot be said enough.” Lips met eager lips.
Freeing her hands from his, Summer slipped them back under his tunic, sliding them up and taking the fabric with her, until she either had to wait or break away from the kiss. Tugging on the hem, she lifted her head a touch to smile into his eyes. “You tell me things I wish to believe, but in my secret heart, I know better. Make me believe, Loki. And take this off. I need to touch you.”
The tunic was off before a second had passed.
“So hungry for my words, my dear. I tire of them.” He dragged her fingers down his chest and lay his head back. ”Touch me and you will need no words.”
Skin and scars lay revealed to her gaze, and Summer took her time over them, tracing lines and ridges with careful fingertips, kissing each mark of pain, drawing her nails down in soft lines. Into his breastbone she whispered, “Emotions are blurred, strange, sliding one into the other without pause. You wished to recant them, just a short while ago, and now you want me in your heart, searching? Make up your mind, ice-king.” She teased her teeth along his nipple, trying to render him speechless.
Slowly drawing himself up, wrapping careful arms around her figure, Loki let his eyes fall closed as he brushed his lips over her cheek. ”Haven’t you ever wanted to lose yourself?” he whispered, feeling the tension seem to fall out of him. Her fingertips over his skin was heaven and nothing else seemed to matter in the slightest. Perhaps he was too exposed…he did not care. He would care later, after she let go. And they always let go in the end.
“Lost is what I always am,” she murmured, retracing every inch with kisses now, pausing to pay special attention to the scar marks. “I wish to find myself, shaped in someone else’s voice.” She slid downward, fingertips grasping the upper hem of his trousers. Light kisses encircled his navel, and she traced her name with her tongue against his skin, flicking like a cat drinking milk.