She pulled the trousers down, the cloth whispering over his skin, coaxed them over feet and off, down to lie forgotten on the floor.

She couldn't resist a tickle to those bare feet, a light skimming of her fingers that made him gasp and kick.

Christine deftly avoided flailing legs and scooted back up the bed. Ayel's hand still lay where she'd set it; he'd been careful not to move it, and she smiled, threaded her fingers through his and leaned over for a kiss.