His free hand was stroking down her inner thigh, on top of her breeches, and up again. And on up until his hand cupped her most private place and his fingers pulsed flat against her.
And the encounter changed tone. They both stopped fighting as if by mutual consent, although not a word had been exchanged. She tilted her hips, allowing his hand freer access. And she closed her eyes again as his head lifted and his mouth covered hers once more, open, wet, warm. Bringing pleasure. Bringing intimacy with his tongue, stroking aches and yearnings through her mouth and into her throat and breasts and on downward to be intensified by his hand.
He lifted his mouth away to kiss her chin and her throat. But they opened their eyes at the same moment and gazed with heavy desire into each other’s eyes. There was a moment, Julia thought afterward, or perhaps the merest fraction of a moment, when all they saw was a mirrored self, a mutuality of need and desire. No more than a moment at the longest. And then he was s