The Sink Was Full Of Fishes

So they lied down and she started to move first: nobody would have disturbed them because the entire - and foresighting - Dowland family had ventured out to an after dinner on the canal, Alan and Corinne along their neighbours, Nell with Harold.
Melania caressed him and she took his face in her hands: a masculine kind of gesture, still something totally feminine in her own spontaneous sensuality. She was trying to make the sensitivity of touching fingers reachin the intensity of the pleasure the eyes were gifting her with with the observation of his perfect features: she would have loved her hands to be allowed to get within such a beauty to make her part of it.
With her right thumb she skimmed over his lascivious, turgid mouth and then she kept passing it under his neck, following the line of it, trancey she put her head nearer to Jill and the guy, feeling her breathing over himself shook: she was with him for real! She wasn't a dream, an onirical morphing that had hallucinated him for months, obsessing him during weeks and weeks of pain... There was the real Melania with him, three millimeters away from his face... no, she was just all over his body!
He stood over the bed and he lifted her up along, effortlessly and temperately, saying he would have gifted her with everything world could have offered to two mortal creatures; but then he corrected himself, whispering he wasn't feeling any mortal, because when you love divinities, they make you similar to themselves:
"The only thing I know is that without you I don't like anything, without you I have no reason to wake up in the morning..."
He was speaking mellowing, softly while keeping kissing her and touching her everywhere, bending to cover her between chest and neck with his glazed saliva...
"Without you I have nothing for me to search for... Don't leave me anymore, and if you will, kill me before disappearing cos yours would be anyway an homicide..."
He could have sounded old fashioned, or ridicolous or both, but she found instead that ink rivers spent in ages in poetry or novels to describe love, its rollercoaster of highs and lows had found finally sense and truthfullness.After all, she was feeling as Jill while he was lickin her like candy floss stick...
It came his turn to frame her face with his long, flexous fingers; he slided hands symmetrically from cheeks, to neck and then he reached her shoulders, makin his kisses following the path of hands, each one of those like they were a further thanx for she was back into that room...
He untied the ribbons of her blouse to discover her upper body, while she was freeing him from his clothes as well, then he made the weightless skirt falling down on the paved floor, liftin her quickly and tenderly to let her pennies fall down too along it: and then he opened her bra and let their bodies conjugate to make them a fusion of mirabile plasticity.
Their shivers inside like singing moaning, they couldn't ask for anything better than stay on that bed behind them together: he posed softly her body on it and he slided back at her feet to start again the kissing road:long and disarming kisses till her knees, rythmical and tickling from there to her ardent groin and in there finally, impudent and peccaminous, unpredictable and amazing... he raised up to watch her expression, and in her joy and reckless pleasure he reckoned she was calling him more and more, and so he reached with his lips her lips and takin her tongue he broke further resistences to make them one thing only.
They were hugging and breathing heavily while composing again as one, and the more they were in and out from one another, the more he was feeling without her body he weren't complete, he was only half of himself without Melania.