She touched the feather-light quilt, admiring its floral pattern: wasn't one almost like that in a room at home?
"It smells nice in here," she commented.
"It's the pine wood."
Firelight followed their nakedness as they lay facing each other on the quilt; they were afraid to move: they wanted a moment of serenity before love making, to see one another: then she smothered her mouth with his and his tongue probed inside: she sensed the hardening of his belly muscles: he rolled her over completely, both of them laughing. She stroked him--cooing, pushing him away to prolong their joy.
Yes, this is the place to have a woman: eyes slit, he glimpsed his rods and guns. Kneeling in front of her, he dragged her against him. They tottered to one side. They slipped from the quilt onto the floor, giggling.
Her breasts rounded to his fingers: they felt cool, wonderful: she was marshmallow white.
He stood up and she stood and then she jumped against him, swung her legs around him, clamped her arms about his neck. His hands cupped her feet. She kissed him, holding their kiss. To feel his strength--his arms, his belly, his chest.
"No ... no ... not now ... on the bed."
Though he held Jean surely, they swayed and slid to the floor again; once more on their bed he crawled over her, saying:
"I'm coming in, Jean ... coming..."