Harry hesitated, then laid his hand - the one not in the glove - palm up in Midnight's. "Going to tell me my future?" he asked dryly.
"Not that I can remember," John answered, his voice rough as he slipped his fingers up the inside of her thigh and just under the hem of her shorts. His other hand came up to cup her breast, urging more skin to spill from the top of the corset for his mouth to feast on.