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As he kissed her breasts in perfect rhythm, he eased her to the bare white wall, until her back rested against it. Then he thrust his breeches against her, and she felt his hard, pulsing manhood following the same rhythm as her fingers traced it along his naked chest.
Back and forth he moved against her, towards and away, arousing wave after wave of desire.
Then he pressed his hand gently against her skirt. Gently opening and closing his fingers above her mound, he sent the same waves of delight surging through her.
In the same tempo, with a dancer's grace, he bent to the bare wooden floor, where his left hand lifted the hem of her skirt and threw it over his naked forearm. She waited, trembling, as his right hand sought the hidden place. His hand closed slowly over the tight, moist chestnut curls there. She pressed that place against him, too, barely able to stop herself from groaning with delight.
But he had not yet brought her to the height of pleasure. He dipped his right forefinger gently inside, just deep enough to gather the warm moisture. Then he rested that finger on her secret place. His left arm held her close--so close that she felt his heart pounding against her own and his chest heaving.
She was gasping with amazement and delight. She had not even known that that place on her body existed, or that such pleasure could be felt.
Clasped in those superbly muscled arms, held against that magnificent sculpted chest, caressed by those skillful fingers, she felt sensations that she could not even name. She was flying, swooping and soaring. She was riding some magnificent wild steed, galloping into the wind. She was gliding swiftly through the waves,like the most graceful mermaid. She was dancing, as those powerful, tireless arms whirled her across a glittering golden floor. She was doing all this and more--a thing that could only be mocked and degraded by calling it "the mechanical part of marriage."