This, though ... the touch of those hands carried more pure erotic passion than any semi-drunken coupling to which I'd subjected myself in the previous several years.My own hands left her waist, her warm, pliant, living waist, moved down, my hands covering her rounded butt cheeks. Okay, I do admit to admiring the curve of those cheeks earlier, every time she walked past. The legs. Not overtly muscular, but carrying no extra fat. But that butt. I squeezed. Got an 'mmmmmm' for my efforts, then a wiggle like she was trying to mold her body into mine.I kept one hand there. The pressure that she exerted against me was way out of proportion to the pressure I exerted on that hand. My other hand slid upward under her scrub top, savoring the taut skin of her back.Another lingering, sighing kiss and she sat up."Coming to your senses?" I asked."You just keep thinking, Chuck LeBert," she said. She grabbed the hem of her scrub top and whipped it off over her head. "Should you turn that light. “I was aiming for the not them!” I said.“They’re orcs!” P90 exclaimed. “Working for the man who force fed your wife to a lich!”I held up my finger. “Firstly. Racist. Secondly, Alex is fine.”P90 goggled at me.“Seriously!” I said, cheerfully. “She’s the daughter of the Primogen of the Tremere. Tremere. Do you know how they freaking got their blood magic?” I said.P90 blinked. “They have blood magic?”“Basically, at a dramatic moment, the drowish frigate is going to come smashing through a wall and Alex is going to stomp out, licking her fingers, and go, ‘diablerie, bitches!’” I said, spreading out my hands. “I bet you ten whole gold coins on it.” I paused. “Silver coins! Ten whole silver coins!”“What the fuck is a diablerie!?” P90 shouted.The elevator shuddered to a halt. I looked up, frowning. P90 didn’t bother looking up. She just thrust her psi-sword into the ceiling and slashed it in a quick circle. She stepped aside as the circle of metal dropped into the elevator. Then she slung her.
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