Heron Lake Plateau Troy, this is Midsomer

It was a little awkward, a bit uncertain (at least on her part, anyway), but Quixote was a skilled and gentle lover, and soon they were both soaring weightlessly on vibrant waves of transcendent bliss, two black shadows entwined into one. Raven had never felt anything like it in her life. Not even the most potent mind-altering drugs she knew of had ever made her feel so wonderful. Where everything that had transpired with Titmouse had been weird and painful and wrong, this...this was right. Of that, she was absolutely and utterly certain, and nothing anyone said could sway her to believe otherwise.

Soon after its sublime crescendo, the symphony of Quixote and Raven slowly wound down to a finale and ended with them side-by-side in the cool grass, he doting upon her with tender kisses while she breathed and tingled and floated on pink clouds of euphoria. She watched him watching her, loving the way his eyes moved over her -- equal parts appreciative, enthralled, and possessive. He leaned in to nose her cheek and she closed her eyes, a small smile painting her features as she relished the contact. She returned the gesture a little shyly, her tongue swiping soft kisses over his cheek and jaw.