Zane

I was flying.

Every time she gave herself to me - which by the time five a.m. rolled around, had already been twice more, I was flying.

Each experience was different.

Each kiss evolved.

Each touch transformed into something more meaningful. Something that meant a hell of a lot more than a twenty-four-hour booty call.

She was breathing deep, her wild hair falling across her face, kissing her barely parted lips.

I leaned down and ...