"His fingers brushed the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. She was soft and moist. He stifled a groan. Gently, he eased himself between her legs, spreading them wider. He sank lower and lower against her, creating a havoc and a tempest within his blood. She had mesmerized him, enchanted him, bound him to her with some magical spell. He stroked her belly. The hot damp trail of his mouth followed. Ever lower he moved, caressing her, all of her, his fingers brushing the triangle that guarded her innocence, then exploring intimately, parting her, stroking her, bringing her to what he hoped was heaven to her.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders, her nails biting into his flesh. Within seconds he felt the sultry heat inside her. She was damp and hot and ready."
The Gift -- Christine Young
P.S. We would like to thank the author for bringing more of her writing to our attention.
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