Under his hands goosebumps rose, following the trace of heat he left behind. “You have to — mmmm — be invited. Impress me.” This time she initiated the kiss, delicate and slow. Into his mouth, she whispered, “My lover is Tony Stark. You will have to go a long way to impress me.”
“If only I knew what he could do,” he remarked, running hands under her shirt and kissing back. He let his tongue trace her lips, his hands already up to her chest.
Summer didn’t dignify that with an answer, sweeping her hands over his shoulders and along his throat to start on the buttons of his vest and shirt. She pressed her hips forward, rocking slowly into him, and threaded one hand under his shirt, light fingertips dancing down his ribs and sweeping over his breastbone.