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lips beat aside all the problems that swirled about his muddled mind and
awakened the desire and need that had lain dormant within him all this
"Darling," she breathed, when he had pulled his mouth from hers. "Oh,
There was no need for talking, no sense in it at all. Her body mashed up
against him and he allowed his hands to smooth down over the material of
her dress, along the curve of her spine to the twin globes of her
buttocks. Her mouth lifted to his again, eager, demanding, while her
fingers dug through his tunic and into his flesh with a sharp need that
Her hand reached behind him, her fingers finding the light button and
suddenly the room was sheathed in the soft cloak of darkness. Only the
tiny nightlight gleamed like a small, yellow eye in the center of the
ceiling. She spoke to him, without removing her lips, her breath hot and
demanding against his mouth.
"I don't want to wait any longer, darling," she panted, "not another
His arms slid around her, lifting her at the shoulders and the thighs to
carry her to the bed, but she twisted away from him, whirling off into a
darkened corner of the room where the yellow light could not touch. He
could hear the sigh of the toga-like robe as she whipped it away from
her soft flesh. Then she stood there, before him, framed in the alluring
gold of the circle of light.
Lors felt his breath suck inward at the sight of her, standing there
nude. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered and he felt
shaken, to the very roots of his being.
The smooth curve of her shoulders glowed in the light and her face was
kissed by shadows. The arching lift of her breasts and the impassioned
nipples threw a wash of dark shadow downward over the flat of her
stomach and the lithe curve of her thighs. With the light covering the
beauty of her face, Jela lost her identity.
She was woman. Period.
Any and all, from time immemorial, or immoral, perhaps. She was somehow,
standing there, a composite of every woman who had ever drawn a breath.
She was the best of woman, the choicest parts of all women since the
dawn of time, suddenly thrown together in a high breasted, slim waisted
creation that was being offered to him, only to him.
It moved in him, churned through his guts like a forest fire. He was
man! All men, glaring with the red eyes of passion at all women. He too,
in the wash of lust that had swept over him, lost his identity and he
didn't give a damn. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except that she
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