He bit down hard on her nipple, an act which he was sure would jangle her nerves in the best possible way. He was right, of course: he always was, and while she squirmed and thrashed she also marveled at his seemingly endless and endlessly intimate knowledge of her body. It had been like this since their first meeting, and every time they were together he found a new way. How, she wondered, does he do it? How does he know? She thought it must be a trick of some sort, and then cast a quick, silent prayer that he should never run out of tricks.

A sudden pain brought her attention back to him. He had placed a clip on her left nipple, already tender from his bite. And now he had closed his teeth on the right, his eyes watching her intently as if in silent reproach for allowing her mind and attention to stray. The pain made her wet; she could feel the warm, slow cascade of fluid towards the bed. She closed her eyes and he bit again, only a little more gently. The flickers of light in the darkness behind her lids rearranged themselves into a tableau, a still photograph of the scene. She was suddenly not just a participant, she was an observer as well. His tongue flicked the sore, stiff, puckered nubbin; the participant winced and writhed, wanting only more, while the observer noticed the contrasting colors, the dark rose of her flesh setting off both the paler pink of his lips, and the ivory of his teeth.

His fingers entered her and the vision dissolved, replaced by a fragmented Cubist array of moments from their courtship. With each stroke and thrust the picture shattered and then regathered into something else: their first meeting (thrust) their first kiss (thrust) the way he took her from behind (thrust) the way just a look from across the room made her wet (thrust) the way his fingers probed her while his mouth kissed her (thrust) bit her (thrust) sucked her (thrust). The last vision broke apart just as her own dam burst, wave after wave engulfing her.

Gasping for air, she opened her eyes to see him pulling her legs apart, entering her, his fingers in her mouth, him biting her nipples again. She collapsed while the observer snapped another mental photo, another engraving for her scrapbook memory.