He walks into the room. I single light hangs from ceiling, casting a soft warm glow on the woman sitting in the chair below. Her dark hair pools around her shoulders in curls. She waits for him.
He crosses the room like a formidable ship surging through rough waves, unstoppable. His hand is at the nape of her neck, grabbing the hair there, pulling her head back.
They move in sync, him leading and her following. He pulls, her leaning into it.
She closes her eyes, her face still. She waits.
She feels at first only the stubble on his cheek as he grazes her face with his. But amidst the roughage is soft lips pressed against smooth skin.
His hands run down her face, along her slender neck, down to her squared shoulders. She rolls them back as he applies pressure, pushing her against the back of the chair.
His body is close to hers so she wraps her legs around his firm thighs, eager to be close to him.