Was it wrong for that to be the answer she hoped for; to want to be desired even a little bit? Too much thinking, her mother would tell her, stop thinking, Summer. Tenatively she leaned forward, unaccountably shy. They had kissed twice already, this would be no different.
It wasn’t meant as teasing, this time. She closed her eyes, the better to taste Mordred, and pressed her lips to his. Her arms went back round his neck.
A small smile came to his lips as he felt hers against his, her soft lips moving against his. Mordred wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer, but yet again trying not to hurt her all that much, scared his chain mail would hurt her or dig into her. He moved his hand up to the side of her face, bracing himself against her so he didn’t move or make a fool of himself.
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?”