Her womanly body shimmered with dampness and clinging steam, the tiny streams spilling about the indented bowl of her navel before to flow down long succulent thighs. It bypassed the tangle of red curls through which peeked her rosy petals, still plump from our earlier lovemaking, moist from not only the shower's heat but also from the moisture seeping from within.Tamara's sexual arousal was not something that she, much less I, could simply turn on and off. She often needed an abundance of soft, sensual kissing and gentle caressing that would slowly progress to more intimate snuggling and then to provocative fondling. But right then, as she stood there in the steamy air fragrant with the stirring aroma of her womanhood in heat, she was very ready and willing, offering her self up to me. Seeing her like that was very exciting to me but I told myself that I was going to hold myself in check, to allow us to enjoy the intimacy of each other without my desire becoming a mindless. The path to the village was not made for a carriage; it was little more than a dirt trail. It had only been a few hours after leaving the King’s Southern Road that a tree root spanning across the path had put a dangerous crack in the right front wheel of the carriage. It had taken them more than an hour to bring the wheel together, making the pieces of the outer edge even so they could tie the cracked rim tightly.Gillen had no illusions that the wheel would hold overly long; she only hoped it would last until they made it to the small village. To ensure they didn’t break the wheel completely, they drove at a far slower pace and stopped every hour to check on the leather strap and make sure it was still holding; they had no choice – the saddles for the two horses pulling the carriage were long gone and six people would never fit on two horses anyway. The only alternative was to walk but riding, even at this pace, was ever so slightly faster than walking. This was especially true for.
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