At first they were silent. She didn’t know whether to take his arm, she didn’t know what to say. Odd to feel so awkward after such intimacy. They were within sight of the cottage before the silence was broken. “So...” he said, then paused. “So here you are. I...” He kissed her, and suddenly the lack of words meant nothing. He may be clumsily inarticulate when he tried to talk, but when his lips met hers he was a poet. Such a delicate touch at first, their lips barely touching as he gazed into her eyes, and then the pressure increased, almost imperceptibly at first, until somehow he was pressing, grinding his mouth against hers, opening her with his darting, twisting tongue. A flash, of intense, animal passion, and then... so delicate once more, so tender. When he stopped, and pulled a little away, she was grateful that he still held her in his arms because her legs were like jelly. “I... you’ll call?” she said, her breathing ragged. “I will.” She turned and approached the cottage, fumbling for her key and then for the lock.
