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Table of contents
PREFACE
CHAPTER-1-2
CHAPTER-3
CHAPTER-4-5-6-7
CHAPTER-8-9
CHAPTER-10-11
CHAPTER-12-13-14-15
CHAPTER-16-17
CHAPTER-18-19
CHAPTER-20-21-22
CHAPTER-23-24-25
CHAPTER-26-27-28
CHAPTER-29-30
CHAPTER-31.1
CHAPTER-31.2
CHAPTER-31.3
CHAPTER-32
CHAPTER-33
CHAPTER-34-35-36-37-38
CHAPTER-39-40-41-42
CHAPTER-43-44-45
CHAPTER-46-47
CHAPTER-48
CHAPTER-49-50
CHAPTER-51
CHAPTER-52-53
The Sex Life of the Gods. Michael Knerr. CHAPTER-1-2
CHAPTER-3
CHAPTER-4
CHAPTER-5-6
CHAPTER-7-8
CHAPTER-9-10
CHAPTER-11-12
CHAPTER-13-14
CHAPTER-15-16
CHAPTER-17-18

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 

minute." 

 

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. 

 

And Lors? 

 

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 

was waiting... 

 

His fingers ripped away his clothing and he was at her side in no time 

at all, his arms sliding about the pliant warmth of her flesh to clasp 

her to him. To take her. To love her with a fever that was equal to the 

challenge she presented. 

 

She made a small sound and he hushed it with his mouth, planting his 

lips roughly against hers while he lowered her to the bed. He hurt her, 

but she didn't try to get away. 

 

It was the kind of hurt she had waited for, that they both had yearned 

for all the long months that had kept them apart. His hands closed over 

her. Smoothing the tender flesh and feeling of life beneath his palm. 

 

She moaned, tearing the sound from the very depths of her as his hands 

smoothed the satiny texture of her thighs, his fingers working against 

her flesh. He felt the nails of her hands digging into his shoulders, 

but he paid no attention to it. 

 

Nothing mattered now. Nothing except the warmth of their love and the 


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