They sometimes played a little game in the morning. While she still slept, he would leave their bed and make coffee and juice and fetch the paper. By the time he was finished with the paper, she would be reveling in that state of suspended animation that comes between sleeping and waking. She would pretend not to notice when he slipped back into bed, turning her back and curling up on her side. Saying nothing, he would draw his long frame up to her back and begin caressing her with his hands. She would not move, feigning sleep, as his hands explored her back, her thighs, her buttocks. He would reach around and cup a breast in his hand, squeezing gently, then turn his attention to her stomach and the place where her legs come together. Not breaking the silence, she would stretch and yawn and purr under his hands, feeling his erection against the back of her legs. Unable to suppress a soft moan but unwilling to speak, she would lie in silence, drinking it all in. Naked himself, he would gently pull her night dress up around her waist and enter her from behind. She would respond with a gasp but make no other sound. He would fuck her slowly, deliberately, with suppressed passion, making her want to scream out with pleasure, but she would maintain her silence. She would squeeze down as he entered and relax as he withdrew, rhythmically massaging him as he ministered to her. Then from far away, a ball of light and fire would start to roll over them, consuming them and carrying them away in its heat. They would not speak until they were dressed.