Even as he drug Ricard off to the other side of the clearing and forbade her to follow, he looked awful. His face was drawn and sallow, and even as pa...e as the man usually was, he seemed colorless just then. Blood was crusted all over his clothes and his body, seeping from more wounds than she cared to count. His posture spoke of fatigue unto death, and she knew only his stubbornly defiant will kept him on his feet at all. She’d said her thanks to the gods that Ricard had been unconscious and. Your other hand finds my waist and slides slowly to my hip. Resting from the journey, your breath deepens again.I wait. Silently. Patiently. Still. The touch of your hands are like hot diamonds on my skin, piercing, penetrating.If I move or breathe it all disappears.On their own my hips start to move under your hand. Teasing, seeking, wanting more. The desire, wanting in my bottom, demanding, pleading, reaching out.I feel and hear it often. I rarely let it free, not knowing why. It is a deep. More

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