He hadn't *intended* to think of her right then. But she'd kept reappearing in his mind's eye, her smile so full of knowing encouragement, that Garth stopped trying to banish the image and let the mental picture wash over him.

Donna approached him, her gaze steady, her expression full of both the calm compassion he knew so well and a newly exciting sensuality. She leaned into him, her body molding against his, and he felt the steel of her muscles, of her will, under the lush softness of her skin.

He was enveloped in the blue of her eyes, the black fall of her hair.

In his vision she lifted her mouth to his, and he felt the featherlight touch of her tongue. In the fantasy her hands slid down his body, touching, teasing. His own hands followed, mirroring.

She *stroked* and he arched, tensing, into his own grasp as her eyes danced with feline delight. He trembled as she bent to taste him, the wetness in his imagination reflected where he had, unknowing, licked his own palm. The heat of her mouth echoed in the magic in his hands.

He came with a shout, her name on his lips.

{end}

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