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She curled her fingers around the hair at the back of his neck and sighed deeply. ‘I don’t think I’m legally allowed to say it back,’ she joked. ‘I don’t think you’re legally allowed to do anything that you’re thinking of doing,’ he said quietly, his eyes heavy from the touch of her fingers against the back of his neck — a touch he had missed and craved for too long. She opened her mouth to say something in return but instead, she leaned forward and pressed her lips hungrily against his. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and returned the kiss with as much passion as she had given him. Not caring what could or would happen next, he slipped his tongue against her own and pressed his hips against hers, prodding her with his bulging erection. ‘Whatever you want,’ he said with a sigh as her lips trailed down his neck and she grasped and pulled at each of the buttons on his shirt, pushing the fabric aside. She bit at his earlobes and raked her fingers against his bare chest as he. Up when the cabin got light enough to see without artificial assistance. Dressed in my uniform of the day – canvas cargo shorts and a T-shirt and a pair of boat shoes.Breakfast is simple. A couple of eggs, toast prepared the way toast SHOULD be prepared – on a cast iron griddle over the heat. And naturally, coffee. It’s hard to think of a better breakfast venue than mine here on the aft deck of my boat, the river quiet, serene, before the people show up with powerboats and the loud music that they seem to want to drag everywhere with them.My river. A hundred decibels of hip-hop or plasticized ‘country’ music does nothing to enhance it. The sound of a redwinged blackbird with mating on his mind does enhance it. On mornings like this, even my library of classical music doesn’t offer anything to compete.My mind wanders to the subject of Miss Gee. Nine? She said she’d call. We’ll see. Pickles’ movement catches the corner of my eye. He’s shifted to a resting place on the deck. Twenty hours.
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