Loxley's hands smooth up her back as her hand curls around him. He breathes out slow and long, hitched tighter in his chest when she presses kisses to his mouth. Doesn't miss a moment to touch her back, even in broader strokes, following the dips and bumps of her spine, the lines of muscle, until he can bury a hand in her hair and kiss her back.

His eyes open by a fraction when she speaks, and he smiles at what she says. "I want that very much," he says. His hand slips around, palm brushing along the side of her neck, fingers tracing the curve that flows from beneath her ear, down to her collarbone. Like he's indicating some part of her he's already quite fond of.

"Where do you like to be kissed?"