The nip causes her breath to hitch and her hand to tighten its hold on his hair, and she only just manages to suppress an undignified squeaking sound. But she deliberately loosens her grip a moment later, not wanting to hurt him (much, or yet -- they're pacing themselves, and she likes the thought of just being able to take her time with him).

"And I you," she breathes, leaning back a little as he lifts his head.

A warm smile spreads across her face as he reiterates the theme of the evening. Several teasing responses occur to her, but she doesn't have the heart to voice them -- not when she knows how much this means to him. A real marriage, after so many false ones. A little gentle ribbing is certainly in his future, but she can restrain herself for one night.

"I am," she agrees, running her hand down his arm, then back up to his shoulder, tracing over a spray of freckles that winter hasn't quite erased, yet. "And then you'll be well and truly stuck with me." Teasing doesn't count if it's at her own expense, she decides, before leaning in to kiss his temple, then the hinge of his jaw. "I hope you've thought this through."