The touch of his fingers upon her back, however fumbling, were as new and exciting to her as the press of his lips upon hers. She felt on the verge of being somehow consumed, and welcomed it wholeheartedly, with one hand lifting to catch at his arm and tug gently forward - guiding him to the neatly hidden series of tiny hooks that curved from just beside the base of one wing, now horribly askew from rolling in the grass, down around the nip of her waist toward her hip.<br/><br/>Then his hips moved, pushing up between her legs and spreading them apart, bringing a hard bulge of him with undeniable certainty against the soft heat of her body that was hidden there, still kept from him by the spilling gossamer folds of her skirt. It made her breath catch with an audible sound in her throat, and her skin prickled all over, as if tickled by a thousand pixies.<br/><br/>This was it, she realized.... she was giving that part of herself, and all of herself if she could, to this man. Never had she wanted more to be a traitor to her blood, but even THAT worry was gone from her mind now as her lips separated from his, and her hands moved with boldness echoing his own to tug needfully at his soft green shirt. "Claude... milord, my... my love..." she whispered, daring that word for the first time.