He turned his head to press his cheek lightly against her breastbone, feeling her hands in his cropped hair while he followed the swell of breast with his tongue tip. They needed to be quiet as possible, but it was difficult. They shouldn't be doing this at all, he shouldn't have his ancestor naked beneath him, shouldn't be going for the laces of his own leggings when she sat them up and attended to his belt.

Desmond didn't want to stop kissing her, touching her, hurrying to shrug out of his tunic for her, a good sergeant responding well to his knight's wishes.