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His eyes had burned softly-blue as he'd looked at her, surrounded by the nodding yet unseeing faces of the millions of sunflowers. The same way he looked at her now, in the leaf-dappled shade of the cottonwoods. She could see what he intended in the expression that filled his eyes. And seeing it, she remembered what it had been like. Anticipated what it would be like again.
He'd come inside her. The memory nearly catapulted her from her seat on the swing, might indeed have sent her straight to his feet, a limp and quivering pile of need, her knees already lifted, her legs already spread--the memory of the way he'd felt, so hard and demanding, of the way he had come, with that long and shattering series of tumultuous, near-explosive cries that had shaken him and then shaken her. That had shaken her entire world, rocking it nearly off its foundations.
Standing naked before her, gloriously naked, with a hint of the sunflowers' gold in the shade of his skin and the glitter in his eyes, Orion smiled at her. Smiled in a way that promised more than she'd dared to hope for, even after yesterday. Or maybe especially after yesterday. And she moistened. Without being told to, without needing even the smallest bit of encouragement, she opened her legs to their full capacity and lifted them.