A/N: Hey, so I know this is a really, really short, but there's another chapter up next. I know a lot of you are aching for a hot and horny scene, and there is at least one coming, but it doesn't fit here. You'll have to make do with this. Tell me if you like it, tell me if you don't.

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Having sex is very different from making love. There is a different tone to it, a different texture. Making love is slower, not physically, but in your mind. You remember more and yet the whole experience seems hazy somehow, softer, lighter. The soundtrack is the pounding of your own heart echoing in your ears and whenever you think of it later, that echo returns to you and settles in your chest.

I thought I knew what making love was like before Sara. I had had plenty of good sex with plenty of people. I'd had many nights that until I was forty years old, I would have considered to be magical. But Sara. Sara is different.

The biggest difference between the clinical 'sex' and the more fantastical making love, is the passion and focus you communicate with your partner. When I am with Sara, I am with Sara. Nothing else is on my mind or in my head. When having sex, your thoughts can wander to far away places, or maybe just to the coffee pot you accidentally left on at home. But everything is so much more intense than that when I'm with Sara.

We're so engaged, so in tune with each other's bodies. It doesn't matter if something's clumsily ripped off or if you trip on a bit of sheet while walking backwards. It doesn't matter that it's not perfect, because it's made perfect by who you are with. I know how that sounds, but it's true.

After our long talk on the couch, we headed into some pretty heated making-out, until it was only natural that we move things on to another venue. I remember locking eyes with her a couple of times as we walked down the hallway and being reduced to my sixteen year-old self. I kept thinking this is it, this is it!

I have never felt so loved as when I'm in Sara's arms. She has this fierce, focused way of looking at me as I touch her that drives me to bring her more and more pleasure. Just before she orgasms, her expression becomes thirsting, as if she is nearly pained by how much she wants what's coming. And when she reaches the top, when I bring her to the top; her eyes snap shut, her breath halts, and her jaw clenches tightly with the effort it takes not to shout out. She is the most beautiful creature in that moment.

Her body. God, her body. She is much more delicate than one would expect, her form is long and lean, muscular, but not overly so. She has an adorable freckle on her torso, just above her left hip bone. Her lean waist is not as straight up and down as it first appears in clothing, it curves out unexpectedly to lovely angled hips. You can count the vertebrae in her spine, and when she inhales deeply, you can count her ribs as well. I love her long, willowy arms, and her slender hands.

Her hands. Her hands are so gentle and deliberate. They move the way her mind does, with the intentional and capable ease of an artist at work. And the way she touches me…When she touches me, there is nothing else on Earth that can reach me.

Her lips, her tongue, her fingertips; the way she feels inside of me. There is no sensation greater than Sara moving inside of me. With her, my breath is taken away, I convulse around her, beneath her touch. I cry out, not words, just primal, lusting noises. And when I climax, my lips part in a silent scream of release.

And the aftermath. The breathing heavily, as a hot entanglement of bodies, craving more but not having the energy to lift a single limb, that is wonderful to. It's all wonderful with Sara. I had had nearly twenty-five years experience with having sex. It took one time of making love with Sara, to know that I never wanted to just have sex ever again.

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Well? I hope I came through okay. Sorry it's not longer, but it has to go here and not attached on either side. Review!!!