An empty bottle of homemade blackberry wine lay on its side... purple drops of sweetness leaving a trail on the carpet. The firelight flickered, drying out the moist scent of sex in the living room.
Two bodies lay exhausted on the floor, sofa cushions and pillows strewn around the masculine room. His hand trailed through her shoulder length hair, the chestnut brown sheen radiated red and gold in the reflection of the fire's glow.
Her breathing was shallow and fast. He watched as her breasts fluttered with her rhythm. One of her hands, long, elegant with its short, blunt nails, lifted languidly and then dropped, as if the effort of pushing against gravity was too much to achieve.