He did. Still slowly, moving gently, almost. The boards of my attic bedroom, in my poor husband's old, creaking house, did not sound beneath his steps... His face was still shaded when he reached for me, but that only made the first touch sweeter. My thief was who I wanted him to be, like that. As he ran a shaking hand into my hair, brought another down to join my own on my breast, he was a desert prince divesting me of my silken robe. As he settled on the edge of my bed, warmth and solidity at. Fiona, sensing this, stopped and stood back, holding meby the arms to steady me. She smiled and said, 'Enough fun for now, let’s get you cleaned up.'From somewhere she produced a bottle of heavily perfumed shower gel andpouring some into her hands she began to wash my body. She started onmy front, her hands slipping and sliding over my skin, gently washingand cleansing. She picked up a washcloth and using that spent some timeon my chest and nipples, the slightly rough texture of the cloth on. More

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