In the Throes of Passion

In the Throes of Passion

She did not have to turn her head,
she could sense his presence, his
power
in every palpable way.
She sat still in her chair,
staring blankly to the wall.
His arms stretched around her,
fondling the lace of her bodice.
Her breath quickening,
as he reached his hands inside,
ever so gently,
cupping her lily white breasts.
that heaved in time with
his movement.
She felt him lean forward,
rubbing the rough stubble
of his bearded chin
upon her soft shoulders,
her body quivering
with every touch.
With a sudden rush,
she slid forward on the chair
under the weight of his arms.
She felt his hands push deeper,
and in spite of herself,
she let out the cry that lovers do,
a whimper, then a moan,
all involuntary.
She pulled at her blouse
to free her lace,
so frantically,
his hands going lower,
touching her
so privately.
She sensed a wildness in her
that she did not know she had.
She rose from under his arms
and stood before him,
her breasts bare,
ripe with passion.
She removed the rest of her clothing,
and stood naked before him,
feeling his rough hands
rubbing the contours of her body,
and in drawing her to him,
she yielded to his power
and gave him
her maidenhead.