Fully nude, he was a solidly built man.  His skin was sun-browned, with a tracery of scars from wounds so serious that even a werewolf's powers of healing couldn't fully repair.  He was lean in the way of his people, but more muscular than most, and his honey-blond hair was in braids, and his full beard came halfway to his chest.  There was a light aura of hair on him that glowed from the golden light from the old lamp.<br/><br/>When she bent to kiss him, he let up on her sex, and stood up so he could wrap his arms around her and crush her to his chest, one hand twisted in the hair at the back of her head, the other at the small of her back.  He stepped back enough to let her get his pants off - and the awkward thing with boots, always the strangest part to him - his hands moving to cup her breasts, roll them together, until he was fully nude.	When she unhooked her bra, he moved his hands to her hips, kissed her long, pale throat, her shoulders, letting her kiss him, touch him, and then her breasts as she took off her panties.  He took a long moment to admire her body with his eyes, before returning to admiring it with his hands and lips and tongue.<br/><br/>When she held his cock, he stiffened, a groan in his chest.  He held her face in his hands when she said she wanted him.  "I'm pretty sure you're going to get me at this rate," he said, his teeth on edge as she stroked the length of his iron hard shaft.<br/><br/>Then he picked her up by her backside, put her down on the cot.  He slipped out of his underwear so he was as nude as her.  He knelt on the matress, put his hands on her knees, ran his hands down the insides of her thighs.<br/><br/>He breathed, "If I didn't believe in a goddess before, well, here you are."  His eyes on her were only for her, intense, focused, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.