He realised he'd left his book in the other room. Pity that. If he'd had his Zen, he might have had some self control. Bur he didn't have his Zen, Zen was in the other room.
All he had was need. Raw, desperate need. And a beautiful woman who wasn't Jenn, but looked and acted enough like Jenn that he could convince himself she was Jenn, because he hadn't seen Jenn for more than eight years. Not once, since he'd been incarcerated. Her lawyers went back and forth with the papers, never her.
He reached up with his weakened right hand, to finger her hair off her neck. His left hand moved to hold her across the waist. He bent his head, kissing her neck, hips rocking to rub his throbbing sex agianst her back.