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It had been a good party.

In the company of friends and family, she could always forget for a moment what she was. And tonight she had done just that. When in large groups of people, she could steal away from him and be with her girlfriends or her cousins or with people she didn't know, and could carry on an intelligent conversation. She could discuss religion and politics, or music and movies. She was articulate and intelligent, unfaltering in her beliefs. But in small groups, in intimate settings, when she was constantly near him, her knees were weak, and her tongue and voice thick with lust and desire. A look from him could set her heart racing and make her thighs quiver. Before long, she was sure everyone in the room could smell her arousal, and if they couldn't, she knew he could. It was almost imperceptible, that slight twitch of his nose, but the gleam in his eye was unmistakable. He could smell her alright, and that made her all the more aroused, making it hard for her to do anything more than nod or speak in childlike sentences. It was no wonder he liked to call her Babygirl.

As they said their goodbyes, she felt herself becoming anxious. He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze as he led her away from the crowd. Her palms began to sweat and the warmth between her thighs became more prevalent as they approached the car. Looking down, she saw the contrast in the colors of their skin, her golden brown fingers intertwined with his pale white ones, and thought of how many times ...

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