[She need not speak words to make clear her intent, not when her gaze hangs so heavy upon him beneath lashes lowered and her delicate hand impresses upon him the weight of her desire. With a grin perched upon his lips like a finch ready to take flight, he sets aside the lyre that he may answer Olivia's quiet invitation. He curves his body toward her and draws aside the blanket that drapes her naked form: this he does slowly, as if to better delight in how her beauty is thus revealed to him by degrees, as if her radiance might blind him if he were to look all at once.]

You shall feel all the more powerfully my love, dear Olivia, with your heart that so clearly sees into the depths of mine.

[His hand roams up her thigh, the welcoming coast of which he has learned so well in all the time he has spent navigating it, then passes over her rear, which he squeezes with deliberate drowsiness on his way to her waist. His every movement pours over her as would honey, slow and sweet and thick, as he arches over her and urges her to lie back upon the bed. His lips latch onto her neck, fervently parted to impart kisses upon her sweet skin, while his beard tickles her throat and his unbound hair spills over her in silken streams.

The rest of the morning they shall spend with limbs entwined in the complicated knot of love, draped loosely in the tangled blankets and the winter air which loses its chill with each bold endeavor of lips and hands and hips. Perhaps too the shroud which draws around Olivia's thoughts shall fall away degree by degree with each exultant cry of her name upon his lips and each love-sweet word murmured against her flesh.]