She knelt on the bed in front of him, and her face was a little above his as she bent to kiss his mouth. He wrapped his arm around her slender waist and pulled her close to him as she kissed him, her tongue in his mouth. She tasted slightly like mint. His free hand found the zipper of her skirt and the sound of the metal teeth separating sounded like gunfire over the sounds of their breathing. Her fingers trembled on the buttons of his shirt, but her hands were warm when she slid her palms over his shoulders and down the plane of his stomach to his pants.
He pushed her away and drew her sweater over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her nipples stood out, hard in the night air. He noticed, as he twisted one between his thumb and his forefinger, that the bedroom window was open. She arched against him when he pinched her nipple and moaned softly into his mouth. Her clever hands undid his trousers and she pushed them off his hips.
Like lightening he pushed her onto her back, and she pulled him towards her with equal vigor. He could feel her engagement ring against the back of his neck, where her hand was pulling him down to meet her kisses again. Her body was hot, hard under his; she was all muscle and bone, no extra padding anywhere. And surprisingly rough. He wanted to be gentle with her, not hurt her, but she was directing him otherwise with her firm hands and kisses that were anything but tender. She grabbed his lower lip in her teeth and tugged, and he could taste a little blood where her teeth sank into his flesh.
"Sydney," he whispered, "I don't want to injure you."
"Don't," she said, her voice low, "I'm not that delicate."
He reached down between them and yanked down her underwear then, and her gaze never left him as he did as she asked.
It didn't surprise him when she came several minutes later, only when she whispered his name in his ear: Sark.