His hand at her breast. The slow, kneading quality of it — one-handed, his arm still around her waist, his palm working her breast with the unhurried, attending quality of a man doing several things at once and giving each of them the weight it deserved.
Below her — Mira's breathing changed.
Raven's other hand had found Mira's thigh. , upward movement of it — her leg being lifted, guided, repositioned — Mira making a sound against her own closed lips, the low, muffled "Hmmmnh—" of a woman trying not to participate in what her body was already doing —
And then Raven lined himself against her.
