Until Proven Guilty
“Anne slipped into bed beside me, her body still warm from a steamy bathroom. “Been out running?” I asked. “Yes.” She rested her head in the curve of my neck and ran her fingers along the stiff stubble on my jaw. “What time is it?” I asked, not wanting to turn to see the clock. “Six,” she replied. “In the morning?” I groaned. “On Saturday? You get up and run at this ungodly hour on Saturday?” She closed her teeth gently over the muscle on the side of my neck, sending involuntary chills through my body. “What’s the matter with being up at this hour?” “Nothing at all,” I said, “now that you put it that way. “I rolled over on top of her, pinning her beneath me.” You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish.” “I can finish it,” she replied, placing her hands around the back of my neck and pulling my lips to hers. What she said actually turned out to be a gross understatement. She was a wild woman, frenzied in her demands for gratification.
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