They crawled under the sheets, their last night together, tired and worn out.
Her muscles ached, and the urge to give into the sand master was crushing.
Tomorrow she would leave, tonight was her last chance.
Her side, she laid torn between sleep and pleasure.
Sleep or feigned, she knew not. Yet his body snaked against her bosom and the fresh scent of soap lingered.
Eyes, but closed, senses awakened.
“Tisk, tisk” the second hand ticked, the morning inched closer, a choice unmade.
Sleepwalker bunged further, perhaps he too was torn between the two.
Then her hands came alive, and slowly her lips trace his silhouette, gradually the dance fledge
Locked and winded, he asked “do you want more?”
Oliver would have been delighted