From, “Every Nght is a Holiday for Death”

Miranda Telford finished her drink in one gulp, gave Ryan a quick toe-curling kiss, rose up out of the water like Venus rising from the sea, and planted wet feet onto the hardwood deck.
Telford let out an appreciative, ear splitting wolf whistle. No matter how many times he saw his wife naked, it always seemed like it was the first time.
She stood there for a long moment enjoying the wanting, the pure animal lust glowing in his eyes.
The dying embers of the sun turned her tanned body, turned all of her beauty all of the wonder of it into a goddess of golden glory.
Ryan sucked in air, until his hairy chest turned from a thirty-eight to a forty, held it until the perfect full moon of his wife’s bottom faded from sight. The fire of need, of hunger and desire for his sweet beautiful Miranda burned bright with in him.


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