Diane's Journey: The Play

“You marked me.” He murmured into her hair.

Maybe one or two frenzied blows had gotten through after all. And she remembered digging her nails into his shoulders as she surrendered to his kiss.

“Good.”

“Very good, my cat.”

He slid his arm under her head and along hers until he could weave their fingers together. With his other hand curved over her hipbone, pressing her back so that her ass nestled against his groin, he kept them joined, kept her enwrapped in his heat, enfolded by his strength, caught in a way she had never before experienced.

This ...lust thing, she thought drowsily, this connection, this...whatever; was more intense, hotter and deeper -she admitted as she dropped into that pause between consciousness and full sleep- than anything she had experienced. It might work. Maybe there was something between them that might last, after all.

“Unquestionably.”

Donnal’s dark chocolate voice followed her down into sleep.