I reach up to knot my fingers in your hair, dragging your mouth deeper to me, eyes closing. Our tongues touch and tangle, spicy rum tangling with the ...itter beer you drink. Backing off, I look at you, fingers still snagged in your hair. My eyes roll down your shirt, where the triangle of tanned flesh glows against the white fabric at the neck. I trace my finger across the nape of your neck, then lean forward, and run my tongue across the soft skin that flutters with your pulse, tasting the. She thought about the portrait of the archer, wondering what sort of man he was.Slowly, she drew the hem of her nightshirt up, up around her waist. Her left hand cupped her left breast, while her right hand slipped across her stomach, stroking the skin, finding the short, curly hairs. She pressed her hand against her labia, rocking it back and forth, feeling pleased that they were swelling and growing sensitive. She tried to imagine what it would be like having a man touching her. No man ever. More

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