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hunger for life takes this form and we are back at the beginning. |
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He picked her up, left forearm under the bend of her knees, right arm about her body, hand spread to the swell of her breast. Even in the icy air of the tent there was a sheen of dampness on her skin, her belly spasmed with a near orgasm. It was more than simply lust, although it was certainly that. It was sexual hunger, terror held at bay, an anger at fate, a need to live. He felt himself risen, hard as a spear as he sank to his knees on the open sleeping bag. |
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She stretched out on her back, spread her thighs, palmed her pillowed breasts. He kissed her, tasted her skin, mouthed her nipples, cupped her buttocks. He felt a driving need to know every part of her before the darkness fell. There was no speech. None was needed. They functioned at the deepest level of ancestral memory. Men and women had coupled this way behind the embers of the cave fires while the tigers and dire wolves hunted in the night. |
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Anna encircled him with arms and legs so that he slid into her vagina without guidance. A hot, urgent thrust into the depths of her. She strained against him, her calves against his buttocks driving him into her deeper, deeper still. He heard her cry out and the night, the world, everything, began and ended here. Even if sunbright death should suddenly blossom on the seafloor, they had this. They were alive, right now. They were human. |
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At midnight, Anna, lying tight against him in the sleeping bag, put a thigh over his so that he could feel the warm dampness of her mons. |
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Morgan kissed her scarred face. He began to make love to her again, slowly, then with increasing desperation. There were eight hours of darkness left. So little time. |
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