Loki’s moan makes her smile into the kiss before she deepens it. Their tongues dance and play, and she breaks away very slowly, eyelashes fluttering up to meet his green eyes with her own. Her voice is a moan when she speaks, breathlessly. “Gods, Loki … ” Summer can’t resist fisting her hand in his hair, its darkness a sharp contrast to her own olive skin. “You are so … “
She obviously can’t find the word, and substitutes more kisses all along one cheekbone until she finds an earlobe to bite.