The colder the day, the clearer the sky and warmer the window light, an apparent of contradiction that, in living, one finds true.
She thought of it then, then of all times, as he laid her down to the carpeted floor under close of the window sill, her face and sight upward to sun warm and lighting down; his raise of her gown, find first of his kiss to bare and free beneath; warmth of the sun, warmth of his lips, tongue in pressure-find; add of his touch, gentle hook in curl that drew and traced to inner front; his kiss upon, his touch within as she widened further, her hips in soft-pulsed presses to feel; his raising of her gown still higher, high heat of the windowed sun on her further opened skin; curl of her body, raise of her head, eyes closed but feeling—seeing in sense—the heat of the sun and the gentle of him that felt anything but winter.
Slow move of her arms, hand’s hold to his head, his shoulders and back, sun as kiss and touch stronger in strike and energy; her tighten of hold into focus and feel, change of her breath as she did.
Then eyes in open, sight-burst of the sun, as she felt the same through her: flooding of heat, take of the awe—anything but winter.