Fire, flames or excessive heat
There was a rustle of sheets and a flash of red. Curls tumbled over her shoulders and between her breasts. A glimpse of white when she smiled and a dash of pink on her cheeks. Whether it was the heat of the fire or him, he didn't care. Either was fine.
Flames cast shadows over the folds of sheets and under the curve of her breast. His fingers grazed the crease of skin. She reached behind herself to touch his thigh. Her back twisted elegantly and the angle filled his palm with pliant flesh.
She moved backward and slid onto him easily. He watched her lips part and eyes close. Her skin glowed with a film of sweat. His fingers dug into the soft skin of her waist as he lifted her off him to press his chest against her back. The rush of breath from her mouth when he entered her again brought a grin to his lips.
His fingers grasped the curls of her hair splayed over the sheets. The kisses he left along her spine brought the downy hairs of her arms to attention. And his pace – merciless. Just below the slick place he entered her was a perfect swell of thigh – and his fingers found their purchase.
She pushed backwards but his grip on her hair tightened. Her breaths took on a staccato that punctuated every thrust of his hips, every swirl of his finger tips.
"Please," she whispered.
He smiled and gave her the pressure she begged of him. She trembled and tightened and his hand slid upwards from between her legs, leaving a trail of pleasure. Her head pressed backwards against his shoulder as his thumb traced her jaw.
The flames were lower but still bright. Her hair clashed with the sheets. She rolled to her back and brought him into a kiss that tasted of sweat. There was nothing more beautiful. Nothing. He watched her eyelids flutter closed and traced a pattern into her hip. It would disappear when she bathed, of course, but he couldn't resist.