Petra broke his embrace, shoving the blanket and quilt down until the weight of their pile tipped and fell to the hardwood floor. She then moved, kissing his chest as her body maneuvered so she could ride his mouth. Peter glanced at the morning outside the glass doors to their room overlooking the lake, the mist glossing the dark, stilled waters of Lake Anna. Then Petra’s thighs and mound wrapped his view, her smell, a slight muskiness, wafting into his nostrils. Peter smiled, kissing a cluster of three small, brown birthmarks that trailed like a constellation into the thatch of her dark pubic hair. He kissed her outer lips and swollen mound. Petra moaned as she bent over and began to kiss the crease between his testicles and groin with the kind of hungry relish she normally used to kiss him as they came together.