She set him on fire. For nine months his dreams had danced around this, leaving him feeling empty and unfulfilled, and with damp sheets. Tarren grippe... the waist of his trousers, tugging at the drawstring. Standing, she slid the rough material past his hips and off him. Springing free of his nightclothes, his body beckoned to her, standing strong in the early morning moonlight streaming through the window. She caught his eye and smiled again. He felt as if her smiles had always been just for. A light sweat beaded on his face. He could see his hands on her pale skin, could hear her curses, her cries of pain, her screams of terror.He stopped himself before he ejaculated into his fine dress pants. He wouldn't stain his clothing that way. Leaving himself unfulfilled gave him the edge, ready and alert. He loved that moment, the second before pleasure spurted when tension was at it's most tightly strung. He smoothed the wrinkles from his groping with a firm hand, creases were terrible in. More

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