Still, even as i lay in his arms, i knew this time could not last. Almost as though he could read my mind, each time i began to think along those lines, he would pull me closer again and again, distracting me from any and all rational thought, time after time.
The night was no longer for thinking, or for melancholy. It was not a time of quiet and peace. It was a time with room only for wild passions and unslakable hungers. The only thoughts came in the brief rest periods he allowed me between rounds. Even then i was too exhausted to think of much more than a few wondering words of his stamina. No, the night wasn't for thought.
It was for desire...