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JOAN D. VINGE


you!" she shrieks, as if she hates me. "I hate you--" she cries, as if she loves me. "I love you. . . ."

And she is not seeing me at all, as her eyes close and her mouth finds mine hungrily.


I rip at her clothes and my own until there is nothing against our flesh but each other's flesh. Her whole body is dyed with intricate designs. Her hands still punish me, flailing, raking my back; fury and desire are joined inside her the way I want to feel her body joined with mine.

Her soft, open lips burn my cracked and broken ones with hot kisses; her tongue enters my mouth. And when her hand finds the throbbing life below my belly she seizes it with fierce urgency.


I moan. My hand fondles her breast, while the other lies buried between her legs, parting them as I probe the liquid depths of her secret places. Her body bucks and heaves, urging, demanding, as if there is no time . . . but

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I know there is all the time in the world now. Our time has come; everything will be right again for us--


We roll, struggling, tangling, absorbing and exploring each other until there are no secrets left.

Her mouth travels down my body, licking away sweat and grime, devouring me, as she forces my face away from hers-- down, down, until it is buried in her moist warmth and I taste the bitter sweetness of her. Her body rises like a wave, cresting, breaking, and ecstasy bursts out of her like a scream of pain . . . another . . . and another.


And then, gasping, she seizes my manhood. Her nails are buried tormentingly in my flesh as she pulls me over on top of her. I feel my aching hardness slide into the wet folds; I thrust fiercely, burying myself deep inside her.

She wraps her legs around me and I plunge ever deeper into her darkness. I thrust harder and faster, driven by the need to obliterate all memory.


And in my mind a frantic voice is crying that this is nothing like the last time, she is nothing like the last


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world's end


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