Hunt” kissed like that—closed the door to Beck’s bedroom to keep in the heat. The agreeable result for Beck was that her various homey scents lingered as well. He sat on the bed, canvassing his emotions, trying to find the shame and failing wonderfully. What he felt was horny. He also felt relieved—not quite proud—because he had stopped. When she’d asked it of him, he’d stopped. He hadn’t even gotten a hand on one of those magnificent breasts of hers; he’d merely kissed her—and she’d kissed him back. The wonder of that had him opening the falls of his breeches and extracting his cock from his clothing. He wasn’t given to frequent masturbation, but the erection in his hand didn’t deserve to be ignored. Typically, he refrained from onanism because his imagination wasn’t up to the task of adequately inspiring his body. Recalling images of Sara’s unbound hair glinting in the firelight and indulging in the fantasy of it brushing over his naked body, Beck let himself have his pleasure.
