She twitched in an involuntary reaction, half-tickle and half-heat flash. One hand smeared as much hair as possible back while she said, equally involuntarily, “No I’m not.” After that she didn’t know what to do with her hands, tucking them under her hair for lack of anything better.
“You are to me,” he stated firmly as if that was the end of that particular argument and he lunged up to kiss her on the lips. As he nibbled on her bottom lip, one hand curled around her hip, the other sliding slowly up her stomach as his fingertips brushed at the bottom of her breasts.
Any possible reply was short-circuited by more kissing, rendering her brain incapable of formulating a response. Fine hair on her skin rose in the wake of his fingers, and Summer squeaked, softly, low in her throat. A few freckles and faint scars slipped under his rising fingertips.