"Nervous?" whispered Misty as the first contestant, finished his poem and left the stage to thunderous applause."A bit," admitted Miranda, digging out...her scarred poetry book, "But I don't mind not winning. It's your opinion that matters, not a panel of judges."Misty smiled, clinging to Miranda's arm again and resting her head on the courier's shoulder. "Thanks," she said, her face becoming flushed, "And it'll be nice to finally hear this mysterious poem of yours." Well, let's just say I almost. Stroking the hair from her face, he calls her name, waiting for her eyes to open again. When they finally meet his, he almost drowns in them. Holding her gaze, he joins them swiftly, burying himself deep inside her.Tangling his fingers with hers, he pushes her arms over her head, intent on controlling this to the end. He starts to move, varying his pace and the depth of his thrusts. His jaw tightens as he tries to resist the call of her body, demanding more.He leans down, mouth by her ear. "No. More

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