Captive in the Night by Donald Stokes
“ Go on,” she said, “ kill me!” He grasped her roughly by the shoulders. “If you’re lying to me, by God, I’ll kill you.” His roughness made the blood pound a drumbeat in her veins. She smiled up at him. “Go on,” she said, “kill me!” She let her head tip back slowly, looking up at him, waiting for his mouth. He pulled her to him, and their lips crossed the years of waiting.
His fingers clasped her tight down her bare back, and he could feel the smooth arch of her
body straining close to him. She pressed against him voluptuously. “Oh, Blair,” she
cried. “Love me . . . Love me!” Mari raised both her hands and clawed at the pins in her hair. It fell loose in a black rippling mass. Mari’s letting down of her hair had usually marked the start of their ritual of love in the old days. Now it rolled back the years. He pulled her to him and took the rich ripeness of her mouth. . . .
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