My left hand lightly stroking the soft skin of her back. I bent my head forward and softly kissed her forehead as she calmly slept. I could feel the s...ft velvet skin of our breasts pressed deliciously together and the slick wet folds of her pussy resting on my upper thigh. I listened to the rhythmic sighs of her breathing and felt her warm breath as it caressed my cheeks. A smile of bliss spread across my face as my right hand ran lovingly through her silky short black hair. My left hand danced. Only with difficulty had I resisted the persistent entreaties of various society reporters to cover the event once the guest list leaked out. Bernard, my chef, exceeded even his usual incomparable standard, and the meal–from the caviar through the medallion of pheasant heart sauteed over a nest of Balinese lemon grass–was exquisite, if I say so myself. I do, but so did the guests. The conversation was a rare blend of intelligence and wit as fine as the wines. Although we were too far apart to. More

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