His hand at my throat never hurt, but called to a place deep in me. My body responded with heat, and moisture pooling in my core. When his hand fiste... my hair my breathing intensified. When his cool touch slid from my throat to travel over my exposed chest I knew I would deny him nothing. His hand slipped under my shirt and bra seeking my already erect nipple. He pinched the hardness between his finger and thumb. My head fell back into a flood of ecstasy. This was a risk on so many levels and. It didn't matter. He was in full tourist mode on my body, taking in all the sights, the smells, exploring all the crannies and soft, rounded edges, a whirlwind tour of the country of Liz and each touch, each swipe of the tongue marked me, changed me. Leave no footprints, take only pictures was not a concept this man seemed to be familiar with and I realized he was no daytripper, but an explorer—the Captain Kirk of lovers, discovering new worlds and boldly going where no man had gone before. More

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