Summer made a small sound, pressing closer. She didn’t care about his chain mail, only about the way his mouth felt against hers. But Mordred’s fear broke into the pleasure of it, and she drew back just enough to whisper, “Why are you still afraid?”
He sighed through his nose, saddened when she pulled away, his heart dropping. “What do you mean by still afraid?” he asked, lolling his head to the side.
“And now you are sad,” she murmured. “I don’t understand. Is it not enough?” She tipped her forehead against his.