Creagon watched his wife with the same awe and wonder that had always accompanied his viewing of her. He felt the familiar responsive jerks of his cock at his groin. Only one other woman (girl?) had ever affected him quite that way. And that other woman (girl) had been dead now for some fifteen years.

Marne's titian hair was thick and luxurious, tumbling down in swirling waves of brownish-red hues. The red highlights caught in the light from the chandelier, moving as Marne moved. The hair framed a face that was, surprisingly enough, completely free of freckles. The skin was clear of any blemish except for the small dark mole at Marne's upper left cheekbone. The darkness of that mole made Marne's skin appear almost the color of fine porcelain in contrast.

Marne sat on the edge of the bed. She leaned toward her husband, giving him an affectionate kiss on his lips. She then pulled back and gave Creagon another smile.

Marne was an attractive woman. And, what's more, unlike Melissa who had been conditioned not to recognize her own beauty, Marne was fully aware of her own good looks. And, she was proud of the way men looked at her. She was proud of the way Creagon looked at her now.

It was strange, but of all the men Marne had come in contact with in her life (and her beauty had drawn men like flies to molasses), Creagon Davenport had been the only one who had gotten Marne's interest and then held it. Passions which had usually peaked after bedding with a man one or two times had shown no signs of being anywhere near peaking after almost three years of marriage to Creagon Davenport.

Marne's friends had all been frankly surprised when Marne had tied the knot with Creagon Davenport. Oh, not because Creagon wasn't one of the best-looking studs around, because he was.