Inside the bedroom, raindrops performed their silvery ballet against the windowpane, casting rippling shadows that transformed the ordinary walls into a canvas of liquid light. Jim reached for the lamp, but Rory caught his wrist, her fingertips lingering against his pulse point where his heartbeat quickened at her touch.
"Leave it," she whispered, her voice a silken caress that slid down his spine and pooled like warm honey in his veins. "I want to see you painted by moonlight."
The ethereal glow filtering through rain-streaked windows bathed her in luminescent silver – her creamy skin like polished marble against the midnight blue fabric still clinging to her curves. Jim stood transfixed, the fantasy he'd harbored for sixteen years now gloriously, improbably incarnated before him.
Rory
