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the right words, the words from his heart, to tell her!
    His mate’s taste was sweet, true, but far sweeter than any honey. She was a vision of the perfect wiblih. Her hair was a dark brown shade, interspersed with strands that carried a magenta tone...like that of dried blood. Her eyes were a clear, light green. They fascinated. Intrigued. Entranced. He could get lost in her gaze. No wonder his enthralling power didn’t work with her. He was powerless against such beauty. Gazing into Leah’s eyes was an experience of wonder, as if he’d found the gateway to everything he’d lost. It was pure zoubar – magic. She gave him back liben – life. Lioban – love. And he mustn’t forget. He had physical prowess back! He had the ability to semantwist again! His gimaht stood hard and proud and extended for her – because of her.
    She truly didn’t understand.
    She was everything to him.
    She called herself full-figured? Wore some tortuous-looking garment to create womanly curves? The woman needed better mirrors. She was a goddess! The image of health and beauty! Her body was that of his dreams. She had a lace band about her brust that didn’t do a thing to cover them. Her breasts were full. Large. Topped with little rosy nipples the lace didn’t hide. That bosom of hers demanded more than a look. His mouth had actually watered. And that was before he factored in her thighs?
    The woman was crazed.
    His mate was lush. Entirely womanly. The garment she wore didn’t detract from a view of thighs so amply curved, perfectly rounded, and deliciously firm, he longed to drop to her feet and beton . That is what a man did when gifted with such a banquet of perfection.
    He worshipped it.
    Anso held her against him with one arm, pressing her softness close despite how it mangled his effort at self-control and sent massive ache through his groin. He shook as he yanked the embroidered coverlet from the bed, revealing sheets of pristine silver-shaded silk. Suffered a succession of tremors as he placed her reverently atop the sheets, looked at her perfect body for another moment...fought the urge to crush himself against her again.
    And lost.
    With a groan Anso launched atop her, wrapped his arms about her, and rolled, pulling her atop him, so that he could shove the lacy contraption off of her bosom, revealing exactly the perfection he expected to find. And lose his mind.
    He delved into absolute heaven. Seized and held her breasts together so he could suckle both nipples into hard darts capable of piercing his tongue. The entire time Leah writhed atop him, tormenting him further with each wiggle she made against him. Every push. Each touch. He’d been off a bit. This wasn’t zoubar. Magic was too small a word. Her soft feminine cries added all kinds of sensations to the experience and Anso pulled back in order to voice his own cry of pleasure, only his sounded like a howl. Her thighs tightened about him and she moved, sliding into position to straddle his rod. A greater fire joined the almost-torturous pressure of her garment against him.
    Her undergarments were the enemy.
    And this was war.
    Anso grabbed the lace center of her bra and ripped it apart. The entire thing sprang back to dangle from her arms as if catapulted. And then he was working at her foundation thing. But the more he pulled, the more it flexed and fought him. His efforts made the bed sway and rock. Her breasts moved in accompaniment. Anso shoved his head back into the mattress, and this time, his howl was distinct for what it was – absolute and complete frustration.
    “It’s...spandex,” she whispered.
    “No. It’s hella .” He answered back, his voice a croak of sound. “And you are never wearing it again! Ever!”
    ”Says...who?”
    “Me!”
    The word reverberated through the chamber with the force he spoke it. All sorts of things rattled. Something fell with a crash. More of the fake candles fell from their perches, some going dim and extinguishing.