She gazed forlornly at the loft’s big stone fireplace with the smoldering embers dying in the ashes and wished Michael would hurry with the firewood. After more dumping of wood into the bin and stomping of boots on the porch, the door of the cabin finally creaked open and Michael tramped in, snow blowing around him as he slammed the door shut.

Suddenly Rhonda’s eyes snapped wide open as she realized that she should have been in the kitchen with a pot of hot coffee ready for Michael when he returned from his mission. Instead she was lazily lying in bed, waiting for the fire to be built for her. She felt a twinge of guilt, but then Michael had not woken her when he got up, and it had been a late night. And what a night, she thought, as she closed her eyes again and sank down into the bedding, feeling the tingling between her legs that was a reminder of the spasms of pleasure that had engulfed her just a few hours before.
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