...His mouth felt as perfect as she had imagined, warm, soft and enveloping. The taste of him was different than she’d expected, but he kissed her like a familiar lover, hungry and insatiable.

She had no idea when the music had stopped or when Ella Fitzgerald began singing "At Last," but the world around her seemed more like a suggestion than reality. A soft breeze played around them, seemed to push them closer together. Her fingers ran through his hair, felt the lines through his skull where he’d been cut open. The sacrifice and the sacrificed, she thought, two men supposedly joined when both were seemingly disappearing.

Sara didn’t know who she kissed or who she wanted to kiss. With each thrust of his tongue searching her mouth, she merely wanted to experience it, not dissect the moment. She feared that if she thought it over, she’d find herself drawn to Dace over Nicholas, the donor over her partner of seven years.

The heat of his hands traveled beneath her top and traced her spine one knob at a time, climbing up until he’d pushed her cotton cami up to her neck. She drew back just far enough for him pull it over her head and toss it into her lawn chair while she struggled to yank his T-shirt up.

His hot breaths continued to caress her face between hard, urgent kisses, while he kneaded her breasts through her satin bra and teased her pebbled nipples. Almost immediately he built an orgasm within her that threatened to rock her off her feet. She leaned into him, her breath unsteady, her knees weakened and mind unraveling.

“Dace,” she breathed, giving into her fears. “Oh, Dace.”

The man in her arms didn’t protest. He unhooked her bra, allowed it to slide from her trembling body. She feared her breast would sag, that he’d feel her softer belly against his rock hard abdomen and pull away from her, but he only held her closer, smashed every inch of her against him.

They stood chest to chest, arms wrapped around one another. Kisses abandoned mouths, searched for shoulders and elicited sighs and moans that filled the night with the passion Ella sang on about somewhere in the night.

With a firm tug, he pulled at her skirt zipper and slid it down her long, toned legs. She felt the brush of body-warmed material at her ankles and kicked it away as she clawed at the button and zipper on his jeans. The length of him brushed her knuckles, a hardened bulge she couldn’t wait to feel. Leaving his pants loose around his hips, she plunged her hand into his briefs and touched him.

“Sara,” he exhaled, a hiss of her name spoken into her ear. His finger slipped past the elastic of her panties and traced a secret language on her skin. Eyes closed, she breathed him in, inhaled his every breath to make certain she had part of him with her at all times, both inside and out.

“We should go back inside,” she whispered. “We’re…a little exposed.”

He smiled, kissed her eyes and forehead. “We’re about to be a little more exposed.”

Her legs parted once he scooted her panties down her hips and thighs; his hands spread to tease her bare flesh on the outside of her legs. Not wanting to stand naked before him, she tugged at his briefs and slipped them down his hard, round ass. He grunted as she petted him, caressed him from his lower back to where his legs and butt met. Each groan and mumbled curse encouraged her to explore him in the twilight.

“Sara.”

“Hmm?” Words no longer seemed possible as he touched her between the thighs, found her wet and more than ready.

“I want you, but if you tell me to do so, I’ll stop.”