Encounter
By: Miss Nightshade
Disclaimer: I do not own Circle of Magic or The Circle Opens, it all belongs to Tamara Pierce. Sue me and it will avail you not. So piss off.
Note for the Story: It is a little known fact that Hypnos (Somnus in Latin) is the actual Greek god of sleep, and Morpheus is his son, the bringer of dreams. I know that the Circle isn't Greek, but I've decided to use this anyway.
Briar Moss rolled over on his back, his smooth gold-brown skin sleek with perspiration. "Gods—"He moaned through gritted teeth, raking a hand through his rough-cut black hair. "Leave me in peace—"It was the third time that night he'd awoken abruptly, drowning in his blankets, his flesh scorching, in what could be called a pleasurable agony.
His dreams. Those damned dreams. All heat and whispers and long gold-brown hair sticking to bodies moving as one. Mouths and groans and hands, touching, playing, torturing him with their delight. They screamed through his head, ripping his slumbering mind from the arms of Hypnos.
It wasn't so much the content of the imaginings; he knew from the street gang he'd belonged to that all people had them at one time or another. It was the person playing opposite lead to him. The slender beauty squirming gratifyingly on the sheets beneath him. And the fact that it was gratifying to see her squirm. To feel her breath hot and moist on his throat as she was pressed down into the mattress with every wave of pleasure that went coursing through his body at breakneck speed. Was it a sign somehow? Were his dreams premonitions? Literal or figurative?
He couldn't ask Rosethorn. No, never. What would she say if she knew? He knew what she'd say. She would pale, bite her lip for a second, straighten her back and grip her hands in fists. She'd tell him to stop those dreams and stop them fast. She'd tell him to concentrate on his magic. She'd tell him to stop watching Sandry as she worked at the loom. Then she'd hang him upside down by vines in the cold rain for three hours and move the loom away from the window, so that he couldn't see the light filter through the girl's long hair and her delicate body bend and sweep gracefully as she laboured.
Ahh, even if he did ask her and she did all that, he had a sneaking suspicion her methods wouldn't work. The dreams wouldn't stop. Not after what he'd witnessed at the public baths just a week ago.
It was all a mistake. A horrible, wonderful, lovely mistake. He hadn't meant to spy on her. He was just passing by to meet with Rosethorn and Lark back at the gates when he'd heard a splash and a screech from over the wall. He had thought she was in trouble, hurt or being attacked. Who wouldn't have gone to see? Who wouldn't have called the protecting foliage back from the ancient crumbling area of the stone divider and slipped inside to be sure all was well? Any good person would have and may their soul be cursed and damned to the bowels of the Underworld if they hadn't! Right—?
But Briar hadn't left when he realised she had just slipped on a puddle of water on the slick tiles and fallen into the bath. He'd stayed, hidden behind the plant growth, willing it to stay calm and conceal his actions. He'd stared, breathless, transfixed by the girl before him. Watched as she worked the soapy cloth down her svelte body and poured a pitcher of clear water over her head to rinse her hair.
He had sat there until the very moment she slid from the bath back onto the terrazzo, her body warm and fresh looking from the stimulation of the wash. And after she'd dressed and left he sat there still, leaning back against the hedge, his grey-green eyes shut as he re-lived the entire experience, the nostrils of his thin-bladed nose flaring in his heat.
How could anyone forget something like that? Was it his fault the scene kept playing over and over in his head? Or that because of it she suddenly appeared in his dreams where they were lovers?
Lovers. He swallowed and choked on the word, shaking his head vigorously as if to toss it from his mind. We're friends, nearly family. That's all. No more.
Briar shut his eyes tightly, pulling the blankets up to his chin in frustration. Sandry's soft voice swept through his ears. Her face, the blue eyes squeezed closed, her nose pointing upward with her chin, the half-open mouth clenching closed and then open again with each thrust. 'Briar—' He shot up from his reclining position, and after realising he'd begun to rub his thumb across the tip of his member, he blushed and pulled his hand back, hoping whoever had just addressed him hadn't seen.
"Huh?" He gulped into the blackness. Everything was so dark during summer nights in Winding Circle he couldn't see more than five feet in front of him. But he could feel; the leaves of his miniature pine dancing in the softly singing breeze, the air in it's own waltz caressing his clammy skin, and—Oh gods, it was Sandry.
Sandry, standing in his doorway, her thin, white nightdress hanging loosely from her narrow shoulders and the long mane of golden brown hair cascading past her hips, strands falling before her eyes. He'd have known it was her even if he couldn't make out her form there, he'd have known from two houses down with his eyes closed. It was her scent.
That delicate mixture of slightly perfumed soap and cool rain that could only be hers. The scent he'd breathed in for so long that it was like her invisible fingerprints to him. He'd know her by that no matter what. Well, that, and only Sandry would have the innocence and gall to slip into his room late at night and not feel vaguely embarrassed that someone might get the wrong impression had they seen her.
"Sandry?" He breathed huskily, his voice so soft he wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't heard him. But no, Sandry always heard him. Or at least she did whenever he thought she wasn't listening and the situation was anything but virtuous.
He grinned despite his awkwardness as she sidled over to the bed and slid down beside him without a thought, the warm flesh of her shoulder brushing his own unintentionally. "Can't sleep?" She asked quietly, letting out a sigh and arching her neck as she stretched just for something to do in the silence that surrounded them.
Briar rolled onto his side, his sharp cheek resting in the palm of his hand. "I think that's my line." He teased, blowing at a lone wisp of her hair that had fallen in his line of vision.
Sandry smiled and sighed again, lifting her arms above her head to clutch the pillow tightly. "Ah, you'd try and take credit for anything, Briar Moss." She smiled, and closed her eyes. He was trying to decide if she was asleep or just pretending when she spoke. "Are you still awake?"
He waited before answering, afraid his guilt at the dreams might slip into his voice somehow. "Yes. What are you doing here, Sandry?" The situation was all too tempting and he didn't want to end up weaved into the rug because he couldn't control his ever troublesome, and all too strong hormones.
She was feigning slumber again. Briar scooted a little away from her and tucked the sheets under his legs for extra insurance. "I'm going to sleep." He declared suddenly and dropped his head back onto the bed, resting it on the mattress because she'd confiscated his pillow. But Sandry obviously had no intention of letting him get a good night's sleep because she turned over, facing him and stated to walk her fingers across his shoulder.
For a few minutes he acted like he didn't even notice, but then her little finger person went decidedly south and he sat up abruptly. "Hey! Cut it out!" He demanded, trying to keep his voice down, and snatched her hand off his belly where it was doing what appeared to be an odd version of the tango. "I'm trying to sleep here, Sandry!"
She regarded him with all-too-innocent eyes. This was flirty behaviour, even for Sandry who saw affection as shockingly sudden bear hugs and holding hands at peculiar and sometimes uncoordinated moments. "You don't want to talk?" She questioned, her body somehow less than a half inch from his.
Briar shook his head quickly, swallowing as her warm breath tickled his ear. "No? How about something else?" Her hand had moved back to his stomach but the tango was abandoned and her fingers were moving lower by the second. "Hmm?"
He summoned every bit of willpower in his body to answer. "N-no—"But he was squeezing his eyes shut and breathing heavily as she reached down to brush her fingertips over his erect organ. "Sandry—"His hips rose, bowing upward at her touch.
"No? You don't mean that." She giggled, throwing a leg carefully over his waist and pulling herself atop him. "Hmm?" She pressed her pelvis firmly against his, dipping her head back with a small gasp.
"This can't be happening. This is another dream." Briar insisted, struggling with his conscience and his needy body. He reached down to twist the skin on his arm but she was at his neck then and he was suddenly paralysed. Her teeth grazed the delicate flesh of his throat, burning and branding him with her lips and tongue. "Sweet gods!" He moaned at the contact, dizzy with desire.
"Another?" She asked, confused, but not distracted enough to disregard his current state of arousal. "No matter." Her hands slipped over his bare chest and then descended to struggle with the carelessly tied knot holding his pants on.
She fought with the bind for a second then remembered. Her fingers curved into hook shapes and beckoned the threads of the drawstring from their twisted braids. The waistband of his slacks went loose about his waist and Sandry smiled giddily. "Much better. Don't you think, Briar?"
"Sandry, please—we can't—I mean—this is—"His throat felt so tight and dry, the words wouldn't come out. She seemed satisfied by this, but not entirely pleased enough, for her mouth came down on his to silence him in a kiss that felt as if it would sear him to the bone. When she finally pulled away he was too breathless to do anything but lie still as she snaked her hands down his hips, dragging his pants with her.
Panting heavily, Briar moved up onto his elbows, in one last attempt to stop her actions, knowing that in few seconds he'd be unable to curb his reactions. "Rosethorn, Lark, everyone—"He gasped, through clenched teeth, his jaw tightened almost painfully. "They'll hear. Sandry, oh gods—!" He felt her fingers drift across his tauten belly and down to where he needed her the most.
He let out a strangled cry when she took hold of his erection, and fell back onto the pillow, his eyes shut tightly, breathing through his nose like an animal. Sandry looked up at him, her hand unmoving, and smiled gently. "Shh. It's okay. Just relax."
She rubbed her palm carefully across the tip, her movements fleeting, feather-light, then turned her hand to grasp it completely, her fingers stroking in long, sensuous motions. Moving down to kneel between his legs, she lifted her other hand to cup his scrotum, her thumb fondling it in a torturously slow rhythm.
Briar lay there, his body tensed, ready, denied, needing what she wouldn't give him. Her fingers moved faster and faster, the pace quickening till he thought he might explode. "Your mouth.—"He groaned out, his breathing erratic and his word uncoordinated so they slurred. "I need your mouth—"The girl ignored him, her hands working quicker than before. "Now!" He cried out in anguished pleasure nearly on the verge of tears, his body aching so badly. "I need it! Please! Gods, Sandry, please!"
She was merciful, and her head dipped downward as he lifted his hips, meeting her halfway between, her lips sliding slowly over his erect member. He huffed aloud, a sharp intake of breath the only sound heard in the black quiet of the room. Through half- open grey-green eyes, Briar watched the gold-brown head plunge up and down, the heat of her mouth and the smooth wetness of her tongue paradise in his feverish state. His hands, calloused yet delicate, flew to her hair, the fingers weaving into it, feeling the silkiness of her mane.
He could smell the dried herbs and flowers he'd mixed just for her, grinding and stirring them into the soap she used on her hair. Lemon balm, freesia, jasmine, sage, bay leaf, sassafras, all subtle and earthy, just as she was. They sung, blending with the natural scent of her body, filling his nose and creating another fiery wave of desire. He groaned as it washed through him, settling rowdily in his heated loins. And then he was there, the orgasm shooting through him like electricity, the scent of her driving him over the edge. Every muscle in his body tensed up, his heartbeat like a mouse's, humming in his ears. Her mouth still on him, swallowing rapidly.
Briar threw his hand across his lips, biting down on it in an attempt to stifle the moans of ecstasy released from his throat. Only when the waves of pleasure subsided did he notice the taste of blood on his palate.
"You hurt yourself." Sandry cooed, sliding up his body and taking hold of his wounded hand with delicate sensuality. Her tongue flicked from it's hiding place and ran across the gashes. She sucked his fingers one by one into her mouth, removing any speck of blood or perspiration on them. "Better?" He nodded mutely, his pulse already beginning to quicken again.
Quietly she placed his cut hand on her breast and gazed at him through playfully coy eyes, the redness from the openings staining her nightdress. "How long have you wished for this?" She murmured, her other hand sliding up his chest and then his throat, her fingers brushing over his cheek and finding their way into his damp hair. "How long have you wanted me?"
He tried to think, tried to tell her since he'd seen her in the baths. But he knew it wasn't true. He'd longer to taste her kiss, feel her skin against his since she'd left for the Duke's Citadel and become more than just 'Sandry, foster-sister'. He'd barely been able to restrain himself every morning as she wandered from her room on this visit back, her nightdress mercilessly inadequate as the sunlight streamed through it, allowing him to see what her body had become in these months away. "So long." He breathed, finally finding his voice in the realisation. "I've loved you for so long."
She smiled, her full lips turning up at the edges gracefully. "Then tell me." Briar looked up at her, confused by her words and longing to savour the pleasure of her beneath him.
"What are you talking about?" Sandry's features began to fade in the darkness, her hands dissolving even as they stroked across his face. He struggled futilely to grab hold of her diminishing figure, bring her back to him. "Sandry?!" But she was gone.
Briar awoke with a start, his chest heaving and his loins tingling with arousal. He could hear Sandry beginning to stir in her room as daylight filtered through the curtains. It was time.
To Be Continued –
By: Miss Nightshade
Disclaimer: I do not own Circle of Magic or The Circle Opens, it all belongs to Tamara Pierce. Sue me and it will avail you not. So piss off.
Note for the Story: It is a little known fact that Hypnos (Somnus in Latin) is the actual Greek god of sleep, and Morpheus is his son, the bringer of dreams. I know that the Circle isn't Greek, but I've decided to use this anyway.
Briar Moss rolled over on his back, his smooth gold-brown skin sleek with perspiration. "Gods—"He moaned through gritted teeth, raking a hand through his rough-cut black hair. "Leave me in peace—"It was the third time that night he'd awoken abruptly, drowning in his blankets, his flesh scorching, in what could be called a pleasurable agony.
His dreams. Those damned dreams. All heat and whispers and long gold-brown hair sticking to bodies moving as one. Mouths and groans and hands, touching, playing, torturing him with their delight. They screamed through his head, ripping his slumbering mind from the arms of Hypnos.
It wasn't so much the content of the imaginings; he knew from the street gang he'd belonged to that all people had them at one time or another. It was the person playing opposite lead to him. The slender beauty squirming gratifyingly on the sheets beneath him. And the fact that it was gratifying to see her squirm. To feel her breath hot and moist on his throat as she was pressed down into the mattress with every wave of pleasure that went coursing through his body at breakneck speed. Was it a sign somehow? Were his dreams premonitions? Literal or figurative?
He couldn't ask Rosethorn. No, never. What would she say if she knew? He knew what she'd say. She would pale, bite her lip for a second, straighten her back and grip her hands in fists. She'd tell him to stop those dreams and stop them fast. She'd tell him to concentrate on his magic. She'd tell him to stop watching Sandry as she worked at the loom. Then she'd hang him upside down by vines in the cold rain for three hours and move the loom away from the window, so that he couldn't see the light filter through the girl's long hair and her delicate body bend and sweep gracefully as she laboured.
Ahh, even if he did ask her and she did all that, he had a sneaking suspicion her methods wouldn't work. The dreams wouldn't stop. Not after what he'd witnessed at the public baths just a week ago.
It was all a mistake. A horrible, wonderful, lovely mistake. He hadn't meant to spy on her. He was just passing by to meet with Rosethorn and Lark back at the gates when he'd heard a splash and a screech from over the wall. He had thought she was in trouble, hurt or being attacked. Who wouldn't have gone to see? Who wouldn't have called the protecting foliage back from the ancient crumbling area of the stone divider and slipped inside to be sure all was well? Any good person would have and may their soul be cursed and damned to the bowels of the Underworld if they hadn't! Right—?
But Briar hadn't left when he realised she had just slipped on a puddle of water on the slick tiles and fallen into the bath. He'd stayed, hidden behind the plant growth, willing it to stay calm and conceal his actions. He'd stared, breathless, transfixed by the girl before him. Watched as she worked the soapy cloth down her svelte body and poured a pitcher of clear water over her head to rinse her hair.
He had sat there until the very moment she slid from the bath back onto the terrazzo, her body warm and fresh looking from the stimulation of the wash. And after she'd dressed and left he sat there still, leaning back against the hedge, his grey-green eyes shut as he re-lived the entire experience, the nostrils of his thin-bladed nose flaring in his heat.
How could anyone forget something like that? Was it his fault the scene kept playing over and over in his head? Or that because of it she suddenly appeared in his dreams where they were lovers?
Lovers. He swallowed and choked on the word, shaking his head vigorously as if to toss it from his mind. We're friends, nearly family. That's all. No more.
Briar shut his eyes tightly, pulling the blankets up to his chin in frustration. Sandry's soft voice swept through his ears. Her face, the blue eyes squeezed closed, her nose pointing upward with her chin, the half-open mouth clenching closed and then open again with each thrust. 'Briar—' He shot up from his reclining position, and after realising he'd begun to rub his thumb across the tip of his member, he blushed and pulled his hand back, hoping whoever had just addressed him hadn't seen.
"Huh?" He gulped into the blackness. Everything was so dark during summer nights in Winding Circle he couldn't see more than five feet in front of him. But he could feel; the leaves of his miniature pine dancing in the softly singing breeze, the air in it's own waltz caressing his clammy skin, and—Oh gods, it was Sandry.
Sandry, standing in his doorway, her thin, white nightdress hanging loosely from her narrow shoulders and the long mane of golden brown hair cascading past her hips, strands falling before her eyes. He'd have known it was her even if he couldn't make out her form there, he'd have known from two houses down with his eyes closed. It was her scent.
That delicate mixture of slightly perfumed soap and cool rain that could only be hers. The scent he'd breathed in for so long that it was like her invisible fingerprints to him. He'd know her by that no matter what. Well, that, and only Sandry would have the innocence and gall to slip into his room late at night and not feel vaguely embarrassed that someone might get the wrong impression had they seen her.
"Sandry?" He breathed huskily, his voice so soft he wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't heard him. But no, Sandry always heard him. Or at least she did whenever he thought she wasn't listening and the situation was anything but virtuous.
He grinned despite his awkwardness as she sidled over to the bed and slid down beside him without a thought, the warm flesh of her shoulder brushing his own unintentionally. "Can't sleep?" She asked quietly, letting out a sigh and arching her neck as she stretched just for something to do in the silence that surrounded them.
Briar rolled onto his side, his sharp cheek resting in the palm of his hand. "I think that's my line." He teased, blowing at a lone wisp of her hair that had fallen in his line of vision.
Sandry smiled and sighed again, lifting her arms above her head to clutch the pillow tightly. "Ah, you'd try and take credit for anything, Briar Moss." She smiled, and closed her eyes. He was trying to decide if she was asleep or just pretending when she spoke. "Are you still awake?"
He waited before answering, afraid his guilt at the dreams might slip into his voice somehow. "Yes. What are you doing here, Sandry?" The situation was all too tempting and he didn't want to end up weaved into the rug because he couldn't control his ever troublesome, and all too strong hormones.
She was feigning slumber again. Briar scooted a little away from her and tucked the sheets under his legs for extra insurance. "I'm going to sleep." He declared suddenly and dropped his head back onto the bed, resting it on the mattress because she'd confiscated his pillow. But Sandry obviously had no intention of letting him get a good night's sleep because she turned over, facing him and stated to walk her fingers across his shoulder.
For a few minutes he acted like he didn't even notice, but then her little finger person went decidedly south and he sat up abruptly. "Hey! Cut it out!" He demanded, trying to keep his voice down, and snatched her hand off his belly where it was doing what appeared to be an odd version of the tango. "I'm trying to sleep here, Sandry!"
She regarded him with all-too-innocent eyes. This was flirty behaviour, even for Sandry who saw affection as shockingly sudden bear hugs and holding hands at peculiar and sometimes uncoordinated moments. "You don't want to talk?" She questioned, her body somehow less than a half inch from his.
Briar shook his head quickly, swallowing as her warm breath tickled his ear. "No? How about something else?" Her hand had moved back to his stomach but the tango was abandoned and her fingers were moving lower by the second. "Hmm?"
He summoned every bit of willpower in his body to answer. "N-no—"But he was squeezing his eyes shut and breathing heavily as she reached down to brush her fingertips over his erect organ. "Sandry—"His hips rose, bowing upward at her touch.
"No? You don't mean that." She giggled, throwing a leg carefully over his waist and pulling herself atop him. "Hmm?" She pressed her pelvis firmly against his, dipping her head back with a small gasp.
"This can't be happening. This is another dream." Briar insisted, struggling with his conscience and his needy body. He reached down to twist the skin on his arm but she was at his neck then and he was suddenly paralysed. Her teeth grazed the delicate flesh of his throat, burning and branding him with her lips and tongue. "Sweet gods!" He moaned at the contact, dizzy with desire.
"Another?" She asked, confused, but not distracted enough to disregard his current state of arousal. "No matter." Her hands slipped over his bare chest and then descended to struggle with the carelessly tied knot holding his pants on.
She fought with the bind for a second then remembered. Her fingers curved into hook shapes and beckoned the threads of the drawstring from their twisted braids. The waistband of his slacks went loose about his waist and Sandry smiled giddily. "Much better. Don't you think, Briar?"
"Sandry, please—we can't—I mean—this is—"His throat felt so tight and dry, the words wouldn't come out. She seemed satisfied by this, but not entirely pleased enough, for her mouth came down on his to silence him in a kiss that felt as if it would sear him to the bone. When she finally pulled away he was too breathless to do anything but lie still as she snaked her hands down his hips, dragging his pants with her.
Panting heavily, Briar moved up onto his elbows, in one last attempt to stop her actions, knowing that in few seconds he'd be unable to curb his reactions. "Rosethorn, Lark, everyone—"He gasped, through clenched teeth, his jaw tightened almost painfully. "They'll hear. Sandry, oh gods—!" He felt her fingers drift across his tauten belly and down to where he needed her the most.
He let out a strangled cry when she took hold of his erection, and fell back onto the pillow, his eyes shut tightly, breathing through his nose like an animal. Sandry looked up at him, her hand unmoving, and smiled gently. "Shh. It's okay. Just relax."
She rubbed her palm carefully across the tip, her movements fleeting, feather-light, then turned her hand to grasp it completely, her fingers stroking in long, sensuous motions. Moving down to kneel between his legs, she lifted her other hand to cup his scrotum, her thumb fondling it in a torturously slow rhythm.
Briar lay there, his body tensed, ready, denied, needing what she wouldn't give him. Her fingers moved faster and faster, the pace quickening till he thought he might explode. "Your mouth.—"He groaned out, his breathing erratic and his word uncoordinated so they slurred. "I need your mouth—"The girl ignored him, her hands working quicker than before. "Now!" He cried out in anguished pleasure nearly on the verge of tears, his body aching so badly. "I need it! Please! Gods, Sandry, please!"
She was merciful, and her head dipped downward as he lifted his hips, meeting her halfway between, her lips sliding slowly over his erect member. He huffed aloud, a sharp intake of breath the only sound heard in the black quiet of the room. Through half- open grey-green eyes, Briar watched the gold-brown head plunge up and down, the heat of her mouth and the smooth wetness of her tongue paradise in his feverish state. His hands, calloused yet delicate, flew to her hair, the fingers weaving into it, feeling the silkiness of her mane.
He could smell the dried herbs and flowers he'd mixed just for her, grinding and stirring them into the soap she used on her hair. Lemon balm, freesia, jasmine, sage, bay leaf, sassafras, all subtle and earthy, just as she was. They sung, blending with the natural scent of her body, filling his nose and creating another fiery wave of desire. He groaned as it washed through him, settling rowdily in his heated loins. And then he was there, the orgasm shooting through him like electricity, the scent of her driving him over the edge. Every muscle in his body tensed up, his heartbeat like a mouse's, humming in his ears. Her mouth still on him, swallowing rapidly.
Briar threw his hand across his lips, biting down on it in an attempt to stifle the moans of ecstasy released from his throat. Only when the waves of pleasure subsided did he notice the taste of blood on his palate.
"You hurt yourself." Sandry cooed, sliding up his body and taking hold of his wounded hand with delicate sensuality. Her tongue flicked from it's hiding place and ran across the gashes. She sucked his fingers one by one into her mouth, removing any speck of blood or perspiration on them. "Better?" He nodded mutely, his pulse already beginning to quicken again.
Quietly she placed his cut hand on her breast and gazed at him through playfully coy eyes, the redness from the openings staining her nightdress. "How long have you wished for this?" She murmured, her other hand sliding up his chest and then his throat, her fingers brushing over his cheek and finding their way into his damp hair. "How long have you wanted me?"
He tried to think, tried to tell her since he'd seen her in the baths. But he knew it wasn't true. He'd longer to taste her kiss, feel her skin against his since she'd left for the Duke's Citadel and become more than just 'Sandry, foster-sister'. He'd barely been able to restrain himself every morning as she wandered from her room on this visit back, her nightdress mercilessly inadequate as the sunlight streamed through it, allowing him to see what her body had become in these months away. "So long." He breathed, finally finding his voice in the realisation. "I've loved you for so long."
She smiled, her full lips turning up at the edges gracefully. "Then tell me." Briar looked up at her, confused by her words and longing to savour the pleasure of her beneath him.
"What are you talking about?" Sandry's features began to fade in the darkness, her hands dissolving even as they stroked across his face. He struggled futilely to grab hold of her diminishing figure, bring her back to him. "Sandry?!" But she was gone.
Briar awoke with a start, his chest heaving and his loins tingling with arousal. He could hear Sandry beginning to stir in her room as daylight filtered through the curtains. It was time.
To Be Continued –