once sheltered, turned to face Griff, setting her back against the rough wood of the crates. His mouth was on hers at once, and she arched into him, her fingers still behind her back, gripping against his with the same hunger her lips ached with. He was relentless against her, and she was just as voracious, giving as much as she was taking, pleading as much as she was declaring, and reveling as much as she was driving. It was a battle and a dance, a sparring session full of laughter and meaning, grazing fingers and teasing looks, a frenzy of feeling and a moment of madness. Glorious, delicious
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