She had to let him go to breathe, though she kept her face pressed to his. She ran one hand over his shoulder, and pushed a little. “Off,” she whispered. “I want — I need to touch you, Mordred, please.”
Mordred’s heart skipped a beat, the lump in his throat expanding as he began to remove his cloak and belt, sliding his chain mail over his head, placing it all on the table as he began working on the buttons of his undershirt.
Feeling his upwelling of nerves, Summer put her hands over his after he took the chain mail off. “This is — you don’t have to — ” She looked up, trying to hold his gaze. “Mordred.” God, his eyes were so beautiful. Very steadily, holding tightly to her own fears so they didn’t show, she said, “Please don’t do anything you don’t want to do. I just wanted you to take off the chain mail.”