The way he tangled his hand in her hair, that was nice. Summer tried to wriggle closer and was stymied by his armour. Instead she settled for deepening the kiss, nipping at his lip.
A soft gasp escaped him as she bit down on his lip, his fingers pulling at her hair. He was caught up between wanting to stop and knowing his boundaries and continuing the whole thing. Instead he ignored everything and continued to kiss her, pushing back all the things his father had told him exactly not to do.
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.”