Giggling, Summer inquired, “Are you /marking/ me already?” She ran one hand through his hair again, easing out tiny knots and making the faint curls spring.
“Maybe.” He whispered softly and slotted his head in under her chin, peppering kisses along her neck as he clutched at the fabric of her shirt. As she paid attention to his hair, he let out a low groan and closed his eyes.
She whimpered, sparks crackling down her nerves, when he found /that/ place right under her ear. Her hands clenched. “Isaac … please Isaac.” Involuntarily she shifted upward, pressing against him.