He took her by the shoulders and kissed her. Her eyes were still
closed and lips slightly parted when he pulled his face away. She
had come to him, and now she needed him to guide her.
He stepped aside and indicated the way to the bedroom. She moved
and he trailed her holding one of her hands in his, the one she
would let him hold. Had he figured it out yet, she wondered,
about the other one. She stopped beside the bed, facing the pond.
He switched off the lamp and placed his hands on her shoulders.
She struggled to see clearly, but could not. He pressed his hard
body against her back. The air was all made of his scent, musky,
sexy, alive. She wanted to be tumbled and spun in the tangled
sheets that lay before her, to move her hands between their
softness and his firmness, to flop into the pillows, his weight
hard on her, his mouth on hers. She closed her eyes. Yes, his
mouth, which was now gently kissing the back of her neck, his
lips pulling the small hairs at the base of her skull. She
twisted her head into the warmth of his hot and chilling breath.
A small sound escaped her as he slid her windbreaker from her
shoulders. It fell to the ground with a soft rustle. She closed
her eyes and reached her good hand to her left shoulder, placing
it over his hand. She leaned back into his hardness and he
pressed himself against her more firmly.
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