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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
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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