He's taken her to the country, where there's some relief from the summer in the breeze off the lake. The private place is holy s****l ground where the earth is rich, and she rubs her toes in dark loam near the water's edge, and wades into warm liquid to bathe uncluttered by clothes. For days he's not come to her for s*x, despite the way her body begs for it with every maneuver, every gesture of limb and loins. She's run about naked some days, and still has not made him succumb, though he admires every inch of her with eyes that refuse to do anything but look on her as a cherished maid.
He'll make it hell on her when he does move on her, and she's aware of that, aware of the wrath that set badly with him, when she mocked him with another runaway performance—even if it was inspired, and dri
