Unlike Analise, she’s as full as harvest wine’s full bodied flavor, as fiery as if she were a bride of hell, and as substantial as the rich plowed earth of springtime.
“What do you want from me?” she repeats.
I’m speechless, but as clear in thought as I’ve been for some time, all traces of anger, jealousy and revenge have fled, though I’m still not certain that there are not some last vestiges of those passions at work in the dark woman before me.
“I want from you, whatever you want from me,” I finally say. It’s yielding. It’s total surrender. Would she beat me, f**k me, enslave me to her, I will agree to anything she designs, without a prayer for release.
She pulls me to my feet, standing close to my thrust out breasts. She’s like a demon from the underworld teasing me, as she rubs he
