She casually spread out on her bed. The only reminders of her wild night the previous night were the lovely exhaustion engulfing her body and the scattered pillows all over the floor. She closed her eyes, sank back beneath the blanket, and thought about herself. Every single touch, taste, and kiss he had given her came flooding back, filling her body with heavenly fire and lust and reminding her of how he had made her feel with each of his touches.

She recalled his impatience, how he had hurriedly pulled back the neckline of her midnight-blue dress to reveal her creamy bosom, and how he had cupped her in his fists before gently squeezing and rough-tasting her. She recalled his admiration for her, including the attempt at wet kisses down her front and the open-mouthed licks he gave each exposed area of skin as he gradually tugged her garment down.

She recalled his arousal: his distinct flavor on her tongue, his distinctive scent—a mix of his inherent masculinity and an earthy perfume that left her inebriated, his hardness pressing into her heat. She recalled how he made her feel: inside, above, around, surrounding her in his heat that appeared to burn her up, yet like a moth to a flame, she continued to seek more until blissful oblivion drew them into worn-out numbness.

As the bed shifted next to her, she opened her eyes. His comfortable warmth filled her space. Like she had done for the previous 20 years, she drew closer.