He moans into her mouth, startled into opening his eyes, watching her, and then diving back in for more. Off her waist, then, and crumpled onto the moss, the back of his knee pressing against her thigh, so they can get onto the blanket and he can lay her down.

It was such a pretty dress, he thinks, and he’ll see her in it again, likely in a few hours when he’ll bundle her back up in it and they’ll return to Nevarra. He loathes it immediately, and distracts himself with delighting in noting she bothered with nothing beyond the dress and more skin to map with his exploring hands.

“Lay back,” he says, and oh, she is so small, he could maybe span the smallest section of her waist with his hands—she will be the ruin of him. “I want to—”

Spend hours here, but he can’t. Attend to his lady. At least they aren’t going into this blind, either of them. He dips his head to kiss along the line of her scar, despite the dulled nerves. “What do you like? Tell me.”