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The room is utterly silent when they see Micheal's hand raise up off the bed only about two inches but enough for it to show she's actually awake. Jarod holds the raised hand, smiling down at her as a tear falls down his face. Micheal tries to figure out why he's crying and why she's even in the hospital. The last thing she remembered was talking to him in their bedroom telling him how tired she was and about Lyle not being really dead, but she knew he was dead. She coughs a little and it sends a shooting pain threw her chest and throat.The tube which had been giving her breath for the past week is removed and Micheal coughs again more forcefully than before. She grits her teeth against the pain radiating from her upper abdomen, wishing she could hold it as she coughed. The doctor nods at Jarod and Vincent's silent pleas to release her hands from the cushioned manacles on her wrists. Micheal hands and wrists suddenly felt lighter than air, as if they could rise up off the bed by. "I love you," crept from our lips at the same instant in time. The surf boiled gently around us, tugging, enticing, inviting us to mix our passion with the seas.Softly, gently, powerfully I entered her. Her hips thrust up to meet me, inviting, enticing, joining in my quest. Our mouths never left one another, tongues probing deeply, moans mixing with the power of the sea, rolling with the surf, passions increase, and ebb, only to increase again.The water rolled and boiled and swirled around us, imitating our love making. Her hips moved in perfect rhythm with mine.I moved deep inside her, feeling her grip me, draw me in, allowing my escape only to draw me back once more.The surf rolled over us, suddenly, the waves of passion could be held no longer. We exploded in perfect rhythm with the surf. Ecstatic cries drowned out by the waves and the surf grew quiet and retreated as we lay consumed, entangled, in love.We rose unsteadily to our feet, her dress clinging to her, transparent in the.
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“Birdie, what were you thinking?”Now if that query had a ringing of familiarity to it, it’s because that very same inquisition is sometimes put to me by Peggy and Auntie Pru. Perhaps it’s something the female form learns in some sort of classroom.As it happens, I’d had fish and chips the previous evening and my associate neurons were clicking over at an accelerated pace. “That video?”Just the right tone. That old thing? Yesterday’s fish wrap. Birdcage liner, Ms. Sloane.She swiveled her laptop around. Sort of an accusatory finger of a device when it suddenly confronts you at nine in the morning. Especially when you’ve only had one cuppa with your b. and eggs. Wandy giving me the old heave-and-ho, “You can’t be late again, Birdie.”But there I was, frozen in time, standing in that damnable streetcar. In full profile, in this case.Ms. Sloane turned the screen back to face her. Was that a small smile? “All right, I’ve examined the evidence, Birdie.”I nodded, folded my arms, All-Business.

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