Oh sweet merciful gods. Was she giving him permission? He kept his eyes locked on hers as his fingers danced beneath the hem of her shirt, his warm fingers dancing along the smooth flesh beneath. He stroked upward along her sides, stopping only when his thumbs found more fabric. Something hot and dangerous was rising in him, so he traced the path of his hands back down to her waist and the tips of his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her trousers. They didn't go far. He was afraid, suddenly. Mostly of hurting her. And then he wondered - had she done this before?
"I...Merlin, Romilda, you have no idea," he breathed, burying his face in her neck. It was then that he noticed the scarf, but he didn't say anything. "Fuck. Fi angen 'ch ogystal. So much," he repeated.