Ben mumbled a greeting (a half-hearted ‘goomornin’) and went straight for a box of cereal. He lazily splashed some milk in a bowl, grabbed a spoon... mixed the contents and began grazing like a cow from his place at the edge of the breakfast table.His father, Peter, looked up from his newspaper just long enough to give Ben a once over and frowned slightly. He was a big man hardened by a lifetime of construction work and outdoorsy activities. That his only son would turn out to be such an. Dragging him off the path, through the trees, I turn to face him and bring the hand I'm holding to my cheek then let go. Warm finger pads brush over my skin. My jaw. Down to caress the tender flesh of my neck.The intensity in his gaze darkens, my pulse galloping. His fingers circle, grip tightening and I breathe in sharply, filling lungs that will soon be so starved I can barely rasp his name. But I'll try, because it thrills him. Thrills us both.His other hand rises to join its companion. More

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