Her mood was exuberant today, seductive in its joy, pure Rachmaninoff without the taste of darker desires coloured in by Puccini. He was more than willing to oblige that joy, answer that temptation with hands slipping under the gold silk of her evening dress, finding the sensation of velvet in her honey-kissed skin along the smoothness of her back. His arms circled her from behind, pulled her close, surrounded her with his touch, breathed in the scent of her hair, of her skin. His lips found her sensitive nape, the warmth of pleasure rising to the surface. In tune with the notes of the preludes in c minor he nibbled his way along her neck, tasted the secrets of the hollow of her vulnerable throat as he slowly turned her in his arms. The first crescendo was a bite to tease and anticipate, the second an invitation to find her mouth.
Her lips were smooth under his, still closed to his taste, but softening under gentle stroke of his lips. With teasing bites he coaxed, with deliberate licks he cajoled until they fell open in a gasp, allowing entrance to a duel of sensation and touch. He loved that first sharp taste of pleasure, when the flavours of lovers had not yet mixed and the unique soupçon of femininity competed with the new taste of shared pleasure. Against his chest he felt her pebbled nipples, the pressure a tantalising promise through the thin silk. He enjoyed the shiver caressing her skin as his stroking fingers first nudged one, and then the other, thin strap over her shoulder. The swish of the light material added its own notes to the sonatas with its play of dissonance as it stroked over her sensitised nipples and tore a moan from her mouth. For a moment he hovered, taking in the utter beauty of her long lines and soft tones. She was a magnificent epos to humanity in form and nature.