“Yes,” she said, unable to deny the need in his eyes, not that she had ever wanted to. “I have wanted you for the longest time, Dare. There are many connubial calisthenics that I would very much enjoy trying with you, especially the Montezuma’s Pyramid, although I must say, the Hanging Gardens of Babylonia has much appeal to it, despite the fact that it looks quite involved what with the silken ropes and all, and I don’t quite understand how the feathers come into play, nor the grapes for that matter, but I am convinced that we would find the exercise amusing—”

Dare laughed as he got to his feet, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. “I believe we’ll leave Montezuma and Babylonia for another day. Right now I have in mind the desire to pay homage to my sweet wife in the best way I know how, without silken ropes or grapes or intricate positions.”

“It Italy, it is said the most amazing things can be done with goat’s cheese—”

The words stopped with a gasp as Dare ripped her night rail from her body. She stood beside the bed, naked, exposed, all her flesh there for him to see, gilded by the firelight…and suddenly, it didn’t seem like such a shocking thing. She had never really thought much about her body: it was always there, it made her clothing hang well, and other than Crouch’s slur against her backside getting broad, she had not paid it much attention. Now, however, her body seemed a wondrous thing, at least it was with her husband standing next to her, his eyes almost bulging out of his head as he looked at her. Her breasts were heavy and aching, her womanly parts were flushed, her skin, wherever Dare’s gaze flitted, was sensitive and craved his touch. She leaned into him, almost purring as she rubbed her body against his, thrilled by the heat flaring in his eyes.

Suddenly, she wanted to see the rest of him, the parts that were covered by the lower half of his dressing gown. The interesting parts.

“I think the polite thing would be for you to return the favor,” she suggested, her hands on the tie of his dressing gown.

“Gark,” he said, his gaze still caressing her flesh. He looked rather stunned and made no move to remove his own clothes, so she pulled the tie free and with a rustle of silk against manly flesh, the garment fell to his feet.

“Oh, yes, gark indeed!” she breathed, suddenly understanding why her body had held him so mesmerized. He was so beautiful, the sight of his golden skin brought tears to her eyes. He was all hard lines, sculpted muscles, and great sweeps of taut flesh that called to her, begged her to touch him, pleaded with her to stroke her hands along every bulge and valley and long line of muscle. “You are so handsome, Dare, so very—oh, my, will you just look at that, surely it must be painful to be in that sort of a state—and then there’s your chest! And your stomach! I have to say, husband, your stomach is a thing of beauty. You’re just like one of those broken statues Lord Elgin brought from Greece, only you are much, much nicer to look at. Is your backside as nice as I remember—oh, it is! It’s perfectly lovely, too! Might I touch it? Might I—hoo! How do you do that? What amazing muscle control you have. What do you think would happen were I to touch you right here—”