Then he decided he didn't care. Stell was a warm, pliant armful, willing, responsive, and as hot with desire as he was. He ground his hips against the firm curves of her buttocks, intensifying the ache in his loins, the need to bury himself deep, deep within her warmth. He turned her in his arms, finding her mouth with his, plunging his tongue into her hot sweetness. She met him with equal ardor, sucking, pulling him deeper. She moaned, urgent sounds, pleading sounds. "Now," they told him. "Right here. Right now." Oh, yes! Her hands were inside his jacket, inside his shirt. Her busy fingers were unbuttoning, tearing his shirt free of his trousers. She backed him against the stone railing, her kisses randomly tasting his cheek, his mouth, his chin. She nipped, licked, nuzzled, burrowing her face into the space where his shirt and tie had been miraculously loosened. All the while her supple body was pressing, rubbing against him, arousing him to unthinking heights of need.
