Here’s a little snippet from the first draft of my 1920s gangster novel, The Orpheus:
Finally, she felt his hands on her hips, his fingers dipping beneath the lace of her underwear, finding the hollows of her hipbones. She opened her eyes as his hot breath brushed her stomach. He kissed her there, just above her bellybutton, and she carded her fingers through his dark hair.
“Please,” she whispered.
And I’m going to leave you with that. Happy Thanksgiving! (for my Canadian friends)