Gentleman Jole And The Red Queen - Plot & Excerpts
He inhaled the warm smell of her hair, the slick of her skin, next to his face on the pillow. Elation, he decided, was the name for this emotion, excited and a little scared. In an infinite number of ways, he was glad he wasn’t a teenager anymore, but it was heartening to still find that wild western boy, buried yet alive down under his layers of age and experience. Without the youthful insecurity, though. He was glad to have lost that part. Yesterday had been good. Far better than his first—in retrospect—highly impractical naughty nautical visions. So often, reality disappointed imagination; not this time. It was going to be all right. Or at least…all right for now. He kissed her awake and set about proving to them both that yesterday hadn’t been a fluke. She was all sleepy little cat noises and welcoming limbs, with the odd practical jink that was so utterly Cordelia. Quite a good time later, she rolled off him, flopped down with a thump, and muttered, “Hungry.” He wanted to linger on in Shack Number One for, oh, the rest of the year, maybe.
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