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A fire in the fireplace, a good bottle of brandy… tidbits and finger foods on a tray nearby along with a cozy nest of throw pillows on the floor giving us a winter cabin’s paradise in the middle of your living room. We’re dancing… bodies held close… swaying slowly to the sound of the music the rain plays for only the two of us hear. You dip your head to smell my hair, held off my neck with one clip… your lips locating the cord of my neck just below my ear… wolf-like smelling the blood that pulses there and brushing over it lightly… following the flow… bathing it in your hot breath… the sheer intimacy of the act sending a spark of electricity through my entire body and making my knees weak for just a split second… long enough for you to dip me, removing my balance… making me completely dependent on you as your head dips even lower to plant one long, soft, scent inhaling kiss in the cleavage exposed by my dress. Bringing me back to my feet we stop swaying… our eyes locked… souls. The day's heat had not yet broken, and Ellen wore an athletic bra and running shorts -- the crackling fire light accentuated muscles in an upper torso made firm by a summer's worth of pulling oars. Donna, who was much thinner in stature, showed up in a thin blue camisole top that hung no more than five inches below her small breasts, exposing a firm tummy. It was held up by a pair of string-like shoulder straps. Ellen noted Donna's matching blue panties and joked that the Utah wilderness had never before seen anything out of a Victoria's Secret catalog. Privately, I thought the designers of this camisole had someone larger than Donna's thin Japanese stature in mind, as one strap and then the other slipped from her shoulders, which she would self-consciously pull back into place.But as the wine kicked in she eventually ignored a sagging strap. As Donna reached down to toss a new log on the fire, a chocolate brown areola peaked out at me from beneath her flimsy camisole, and as she.
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