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           Sighing,heabandonedhimselftofeelingnothingelse,athomeatlastwiththosesilkybaby’slipsfinallyfittinghisown.Herarmslidaroundhisneck,quiveringfingerssankintohishair,thepalmofherotherhandcomingtorestonthesmoothbrownskinatthebaseofhisthroat.Thistimehedidn’thurry,thoughhehadrisenandhardenedbeforegivingherthesecondcupofchampagne,justfromlookingather.Notreleasingherhead,hekissedhercheeks,herclosedeyes,thecurvingbonesoftheorbitsbeneathherbrows,camebacktohercheeksbecausetheyweresosatiny,camebacktohermouthbecauseitsinfantileshapedrovehimmad,haddrivenhimmadsincethedayhefirstsawher.

           Andtherewasherthroat,thelittlehollowatitsbase,theskinofhershouldersodelicateandcoolanddry…Powerlesstocallahalt,almostbesidehimselfwithfearlestsheshouldcallahalt,heremovedonehandfromherheadandpluckedatthelongrowofbuttonsdownthebackofherdress,sliditoffherobedientarms,thenthestrapsofherloosesatinslip.Faceburiedbetweenherneckandshoulder,hepassedthetipsofhisfingersdownherbareback,feelingherstartledlittleshivers,thesuddenhardpointstoherbreasts.Hepushedhisfacelowerinablind,compulsivetouchsearchofonecold,cushionedsurface,lipsparted,pressingdown,untiltheyclosedovertautruchedflesh.