Early morning weekend sex--a mainstay during the long, dark winters--was a thing of the past. Saturdays meant up before what passed for dawn in Alaska... and out the door for hour after hour of floating this creek or that river. Home late smelling of algae and sweat and, damn it, fish.When he was home, they were both either cleaning, curing, packing, and cooking, or cleaning up after cleaning, curing, packing, and cooking pound after pound of Silvers and Kings.She hated fish.She hated fishing. He was used to this lifestyle, and his old habit, of "Just get it done," kicked into high gear. He looked over at the sleeping Melody, and smiled at the sight she presented. She had kicked the covers down, until she was laying there completely naked. She had one leg drawn up, and her nipples were standing. The smile in her sleep attested to her having something, al least, pleasant, and, judging from her nipples, probably erotic. He reached over and felt the nearest breast, and she took a deep. More

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