He watched as she arched and trembled below him, his name on her lips, interrupted by gasps and moans as he continued the attentions he lavished on her body.

He loved when he was able to do this to her. He loved carefully and gently stripping the delicate layers of composure and control that she wrapped herself in during the day until she became literally figuratively exposed, relishing and reviling in her unashamed pleasure with heavily lidded eyes.

He viewed it as almost a battle between him (allied with her body) against her mind. He fought through kisses, gestures, and soft caresses to tempt her to relinquish her control, to allow herself to be vulnerable in a way her mind rebelled against. He cherished her timid frailty, and guarded it and protected it. She should never have to fear anything around him.

At the sound of a final whimper of his name, his attention fell back to the women below him. She was stilling, her breathing slowing, and gooseflesh standing out on her skin. Her face was flushed and her dark damp hair was spread haphazardly across the pillow. He watched as the passion drained slowly from her grey eyes leaving only a docile contentedness and heavy eyelids behind. He settled himself next to her and pulled the blanket over them both. She curled into his side: the perfect position to remain warm and comfortable. His efforts and his own pleasure had exhausted him and he drifted into the arms of Morpheus satisfyingly mindful of the warm presence of the naked woman next to him.