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A spasm of desire ripped through me – a desire to fight him to the last ounce of my strength, never to part from his rough embrace until I had mastered him. My desire for combat was a sexual charge. A current of energy joined us, making us one. When he growled, I growled back at him, fought to get my arms around his waist. My Rival's hands moved to block my bid to bear-hug him, but the oil on my forearms made him lose his grip and he failed, snarling. A moment later, we were chest to chest, pressed. Our eyes locked from a distance of inches. We both sensed Her standing there, mere feet away. We could hear Her hot breath, gasping in and out, heard the sweep of Her hands over her own body as She pleasured herself to our strife. I braced my bare feet in the sand, seeking to move my weight to unbalance him. But my Rival was skilled. He made a countermove and so re-established equilibrium. I moved again and he moved. A dance, a grim dance. I closed my eyes more tightly, gritted my teeth. ” “So you weren’t a music major?” Isolde said. Terry laughed. “No,” he replied. “I majored in something where the big money is: Agriculture,” then he rolled his eyes. “Well, at least farmers don’t starve to death,” George said. “That depends on whether you think you can eat soybeans or hay,” Terry replied. “At least you can get a good tan,” said Isolde. “Yeah. And sunburned ears,” quipped Terry and they all laughed. Isolde thought of how Terry had looked at her and was glad she had been wearing the sunglasses. Otherwise he might have seen how she was looking back at him. She liked that he could laugh at himself. That was one of the things that had drawn her to George, too. “I wish you could have seen your face,” George said. “That was, as they say in the ads, ‘Priceless.’” “Well, that’s one way of putting it,” thought Isolde. Terry’s eyes met Isolde’s in the passenger side mirror and, for an instant, she thought she saw him wink. He turned and said to George, “How can you see anything.
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