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“He guided her hands lower, over her own soft belly, her hips, the tops of her thighs. The oils they spread there left a sheen upon her flesh. A sheen that glistened as firelight and shadows caroused about the space. His grasped her wrists and he urged her hands to her back once again. “Clasp them,” he said and she did.” — Arla Dahl
He guided her hands lower, over her own soft belly, her hips, the tops of her thighs. The oils they spread there left a sheen upon her flesh. A sheen that glistened as firelight and shadows caroused about the space.
His grasped her wrists and he urged her hands to her back once again.
“Clasp them,” he said and she did.