She stretched across him to turn off the antique bedside lamp,
her breasts barely an inch from his chin. As she drew back, she
gently settled herself on his chest.
Through the windows beside the bed, the valley shone brightly.
Orange and yellow pinpoints of light, far in the distance, glowed
and shimmered in the cool summer night. She felt a sudden urgent
desire to get out of bed and close the curtains, shutting out the
view of the damned valley.
Was she rushing things? First the bowl, and now making love. But
it had been so, so long, she thought, in her silent agony.
Matthew had simply shut off where activity between them was
concerned, telling her once, several months ago, that he could
not concentrate on lovemaking, not even their particular style of
it, until things were working again and his plan was firmly on
track. Still, they were so close, just hours away from tomorrow's
big event and the unquestionably victorious outcome that was
rightfully theirs.
Just a kiss. Was that asking too much?
She gently nuzzled his neck and throat, which showed minimally
through the pajama top, tracing her long and delicately gloved
hand, the part of her body to which he had once been most
attracted, most submissive, along his upper body.
He sighed through his nostrils and closed his eyes.
Was he responding? Perhaps he too felt that he deserved to reward
himself a day early, she thought with a private cheer.
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