Maybe he’d turned out to be the one man of a thousand dreams. The one who’d loved her through wars and impossible times and had told that same, time-mapped face she was his beauty and freedom. Maybe. But it was enough to make him look back at the pendulous ass of the woman with the mask gazing backward at her follower. They say when you come to those crowning moments in life that it all flashes before your eyes, but he didn’t know what to call it when everything flashing through his mind had yet to happen. Back in the plaza, when she’d first started dancing with him, her cape had opened, revealing the buttery smoothness of her body. She was hairless to the distended V at the apex of her thighs. It wasn’t as if they’d been the only revelers naked under capes, but they were the only he knew of without body paint. At the time, it had seemed enough by way of common ground. She remained as silent as their surroundings, although the city was beginning to show signs of awakening. Back. Janine's uncouth behavior had drained any sympathy I had for her. She could stay in that bathroom all night for all I cared. “It'd be a nice change; I'm used to finishing myself off. I love that girl, but she just isn't built for a guy my size. I've tried to over look it, but I've faked too many orgasms for one lifetime. I wanted to marry her, but there's just no way I could live like this for the rest of my life.” “Aw,” I said, resting my head gently on his shoulder and pushing my breast against his cheek, “a guy like you should never have to fake it.” We sat for a few moments like that, me with my arm around his head, running a hand through his hair, and him with his hand slowly petting my thigh. He reached around with his other hand to my opposite hip and ran a masculine, calloused hand beneath my T-shirt, massaging my back. He planted a few small kisses on the fabric. My desire was completely refreshed. With Janine out of the way, I was completely focused on Marco. Every part of.
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