There were times when she drew herself into his lap and tucked her head beneath his chin as if she were nothing more than a child, and he wrapped his arms about her as if he could shield her from the world. He'd take her like that, slipping beneath her skirts as she whimpered, and mewled when he played with her tender breasts, and kissed her cheeks, her freckled nose, her lips - as if she were his, and he was hers without another. Sometimes, he swore she looked like a cherub, with a faint blush streaking across her cheeks, and over her chest. He wanted more of her, more of her time, her body, her soul.