Wrapped in double-sided fur, laid down on a thick matress bounded by an elaborately-carved mahogany bedstead. The winter air would have crept in behind the heavy brocade curtains and would be milling about the feet of the bed, waiting to bite. It would longingly caress the thick leather of his riding boots, angling into the exadurated folds created at his ankles when he'd crouch to peel the fur coverlet away from my body, to run his cool, dark eyes over me, whetting me.
I can't see; it's too dark. I feel two large, smooth hands: one on my thigh and the other curled around my waist. The long fingers dig into my flesh, as tightly as icicles dropping anvil-like into the snow. Firm, creamily-textured lips materialize through the dark upon my own, as warm as the long, heavy body that drapes itself over me; silk and velvet on unadulterated skin. His mouth breaks off of my own with a tiny snapping sound. I strain after his face-
Lay back down, my heart.
Is the velvet of his jacket as deliscious as his deep, sonorous voice? His murmur burns my ear. Something's going to happen; precogniscent tremors run through me wherever he should brush. Something will happen. But I don't know what.