“Fair? Why should it be fair? Are you not stronger than I? Did you not say you would not surrender to me?” Mischievously, she runs her hands up under his shirt again, fingernails curving lightly into his skin. “This looks remarkably like surrender, my lord.”
Mordred glares at her, allowing her a moment of victory before he flipped her over. “Does this look like a surrender now?” he asks, leaning down to kiss her.
“Ack, not the glare! Don’t give me the glare!” Her squeak of mock-outrage is muffled by his kiss, and she cuddles into his body.