Éowyn arched her back, her supple body writhing beneath him. Her insistent hands tugged at his shirt. He pushed himself upright, allowing her to pull it over his head and toss it to the side of the tent.
His breeches followed the shirt and when he pressed his body back to hers she bucked her hips. He smiled, thinking how it nearly mimicked the motion of riding a horse.
He bent his head to kiss her breast, wanting to take this slow. Neither had done this before. But she groaned impatiently and grasped at his back.
"Now, Merry," she commanded.