The sun bleeds across the sky and stains the clouds rose and gold and red as the dark closes in. His fingers trace fire along her skin, pale planes and shadowed hollows in the dusk. She shifts restlessly under his touch, sinuous as an eel. Her hair spreads in an inky stain and he pushes it from her face where it clings to her damp brow.
Goosebumps spring up where his hand passes, barely brushing her. She can feel the gentle roughened whorls of his fingertips as he strokes her cheek, her breast, her thighs. She turns to him with parted lips, hot breath, eyes closed and blind in the night.
Her favourite colour is the time before dawn when she looks out as the night pales from indigo to royal blue and his arm is heavy across her waist.
