Kathy gave me the latest Diana Gabaldon novel A Breath of Snow and Ashes for my birthday. If you haven't read any of her stuff (admit it if you have, it's okay), it's a happy notch and a half above bodice-ripper. My friend's mum calls it a "crotch warmer." I'm saving it for Christmas break, but I couldn't help skimming some "Claire on Jamie" foreplay, just as an appetizer. Here it is:
I ran my hand up his sleeve, exploring, clinging, relearning his body. I touched the hair in his oxter and stroked it, surprised at the soft, silky feel of it.
"Do you know," I said, "I don't believe I've ever touched you there before?"
"I dinna believe ye have," he said, with a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. "I would ha' remembered. Oh!" A stipple of gooseflesh burst out over the soft skin there, and I pressed my forehead to his chest.
"The worst of it is," I said, into his shirt, "that I knew them. Each one of them. And I'll remember them. And feel guilty that they're dead, because of me."
"No," he said softly, but very firmly. "They are dead because of me, Sassenach. And because of their own wickedness. If there is guilt, let it rest upon them. Or on me."
"Not on you alone," I said, my eyes still closed. it was dark in there, and soothing. I could hear my voice, distant but clear, and wondered dimly where the words were coming from. "You're blood of my blood, bone of my bone. You said so. What you do rests on me, as well."
"Then may your vow redeem me," he whispered.
He lifted me to my feet and gathered me to him, like a tailor gathering up a length of fragile, heavy silk--slowly, long-fingered, fold upon fold. He carried me then across the room, and laid me gently on the bed, in the light from the flickering fire.
question: what's your guilty reading pleasure?
mompoet - looking forward to a happy wallow
ps Thank you Kathy!