A strong wind howled outside, and heavy snow began to fall, making the night seem even more tranquil.
Except for the faint light spilling from the second-floor study and a woman's soft sounds from within, there was no other sign of activity.
The man was uncharacteristically gentle, paying careful attention to her feelings and taking his time with foreplay.
The one who had been resistant at first slowly began to cooperate, adapting until they were locked in an embrace, never wanting to part.
...
Miles Xavier's head was buried in the crook of Joan Shaw's neck. Her back was pressed against the hard surface of the desk, and though her lower back ached, she wasn't pushing him away as she usually would. Instead, she had become pliant.
She heard his breathing grow heavy, and then gradually even out.
The scent of alcohol filled her senses as the man whispered in her ear, "I need a real home. Can you give me that?"
