Sharry Vaux sits at the edge of the bed, kicks off her shoes, and climbs onto the bed largely occupied by Mark Reed with the agility of a cat.
A thousand drums are pounding in her heart, yet she has done nothing, and sweat is already densely covering her forehead.
Stopping beside him, her pale hand glides down his resolute outline, from his forehead, to his nose, and then to his mouth.
After admiring him for so many years, she can finally have him.
Four years she tried to forget, but just couldn't swallow down this bitterness.
Why must she bear the shackles of emotion while he can be carefree? Is it because she loves him, so she can't escape? If her pain comes from him, then she might as well share it with him, let him taste it too, and it will surely be unforgettable for a lifetime.
Her slender fingers curve up like orchids, trailing down his perfect chin.
Finally, one hand presses against the button of his suit; through the fabric and buttons, she feels his strong heartbeat.
