”Please,” she breathes. Her hands tremble slightly. “Don’t stop,” her voice shakes as well, breathless, “only tell me what you’re doing … “
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She bites her lip, nodding, and strokes a slow finger along his collarbone. “Don’t stop.”
Summer takes a slow breath, feeling her breasts rise against his chest. “Percival.” His hands trace over her skin, and the fine hairs rise behind it, and she shudders. An ache rises up through her, and she reaches up and cups his face, kissing him slow and deep and filling it with all her new passion.
”Why do you call me that?” she laughed, pulling at her laces. She looked up, and caught her breath, fingers stilling for a moment. Then she pulled harder, shrugging her shoulders out of her bodice as fast as she could, stripping the lace out with hasty fingers before dragging her chemise over her head.
Summer tries to stop the faint whimper that escapes her throat, too late, when he moves his hands to her rear and back. Fingertips dig into his arms, and she forces herself to loosen her grip — not of fear for bruising him, but simply to shift her grip to something else. One hand tangles in the laces of his shirt, pulling at them.
He exhales sharply upon hearing Summer. He takes one hand from her bum to help her with the laces before tentatively pushing up the hem of her shirt. “Is this okay?”
She bites her lip, nodding, and strokes a slow finger along his collarbone. “Don’t stop.”
Summer tangled herself around Percival with a hum of deep contentment. “You sure you want to sleep now, Peredur?” she purred, kissing at his throat.
”I like that idea,” she murmured. “But no socks. Take the socks off first.” Summer cuddled into Percival’s body, kissing him back. One hand ran up under his shirt.
“It is not the same at all.” She took the socks and tapped him on the head with them. “And what is the point of snuggling with you if I can’t use you to warm my poor toes?”
“My lady, I must conclude that your socks are too tight. Scoot over.” Percival stood up off the floor and sat down on the bed. “Oh, I’m sure you could think of a few.” He leaned into her, tackling her into the bed. “I’m sleepy, Ice-Toes.” He burrowed them both into the covers, tucking the blanket snugly around Summer’s feet before kissing her nose. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Summer tangled herself around Percival with a hum of deep contentment. “You sure you want to sleep now, Peredur?” she purred, kissing at his throat.
“What do you think blankets are for, Peredur? I like my toes to be able to wiggle.” She patted his shoulder. “If I’m cold when I wake up, maybe you should just sleep with me. Then you can keep me warm.”
Percival whined. “Summer! You can perfectly well wiggle your toes wearing socks.” He pouted. “Even if you wear really tight ones, by the end of the day they’re all stretched out anyways.” Finally, he caved. The offer was just too good. “Fine. But if you end up pressing your little icicle toes to my legs in the night, the socks are going on. And obviously snuggling.”
“It is not the same at all.” She took the socks and tapped him on the head with them. “And what is the point of snuggling with you if I can’t use you to warm my poor toes?”
Much as Prince Charming had knelt before Cinderella with that glass slipper, Percival knelt before Summer with a comfortable sock. He looked up into her eyes pleadingly. “But if you don’t, when you wake up, your feet will be cold!”
“What do you think blankets are for, Peredur? I like my toes to be able to wiggle.” She patted his shoulder. “If I’m cold when I wake up, maybe you should just sleep with me. Then you can keep me warm.”
“I just need a little while. A few hours. It’s people, Percival, there are too many people around me.” She couldn’t help the way her voice started to crack toward the end of the sentence.
Percival stepped back, taking her hands. “How about a picnic?”
Summer had to concentrate to keep from clinging to his hands. “Yes. Good. A picnic.” She pulled one hand away to smear at her face again.
Muscles under her skin twitch at his touches, half-ticklish and half-pleasant shock. She runs her hands down his arms, abruptly grateful for whatever quirk makes him prefer to be sleeveless, and traces the subtle outlines of muscle with her fingertips. She doesn’t know how to urge him on, except with more kisses, so she presses forward into his kiss. Into the slow sweetness of it, taking the time to explore the way their mouths fit together.
Percival can feel how her muscles reflexively tense, and release, and react wherever his hands go, and finds himself reacting the same way to hers. Whether it’s chickening out or distraction, he gives up on her skirt, instead reaching around and pulling her closer by the arse. Leaving a hand there, he pushes one up her back under her shirt.
Summer tries to stop the faint whimper that escapes her throat, too late, when he moves his hands to her rear and back. Fingertips dig into his arms, and she forces herself to loosen her grip — not of fear for bruising him, but simply to shift her grip to something else. One hand tangles in the laces of his shirt, pulling at them.