“Christ, the way he moved. He made her see stars. He didn’t thrust. He rocked. Undulated. Varied pressure. Moved her hips to his strokes. Like a dance. The same way he kissed. This wasn’t a fuck. It was an art.” — Skye Jordan Copy Share Image
“So they went running together, silent, toward the vast wastes of snow where no living thing but they two moved under the stars of night.” — Clemence Housman Copy Share Image
