She rather likes him with the longer hair, but that's by-the-by.

For now she pushes back into the kiss, gently at first but slowly growing deeper and fiercer; one hand stroking his hair and the other stroking his skin, petting and smoothing and sliding over his chest and shoulders and back. And snatched between kisses she calls him wonderful and lovely and wonderful again, over and over in a voice like smoke - soft appreciative noises encouraging him on, urging him closer to her, because he's hers, hers, hers, and he's lovely, whatever he thinks.