His words captivated and seduced.  

They always did.  

Vibrant descriptions that effortlessly painted sensual pictures before your eyes.  Feeling as real as your hand, that lightly floats through the field of poppies that lay before.

You always imagined her.  The woman at the centre of his tales, whose erotic encounters you had shared so intimately.   

Whose heart you had felt thunder and whose blush had claimed equally.

But today you were not sharing.  

For as you lay among the poppies, listening to his latest manuscript, you straddle his lap and lower your lips to his.  

Today you were the heroine.