His hands moved with a new, frantic purpose. He slid them under her tank top, his palms hot against her ribs. He backed her up until her spine hit the edge of the walnut table.
"Victor," she gasped as he broke the kiss to trail a path of fire down her throat.
"I can't get close enough," he rasped against her skin. "I’m trying to memorize the way your skin feels, the way you smell... I need it to last."
He found the hem of her jeans, his fingers fumbling with the button with a desperation she had never seen from the composed General. He was a man trying to hoard a lifetime of sensation into the final few hours of light. He lifted her easily, setting her on the edge of the table, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.
The contrast was jarring and beautiful- the domesticity
