[ WP ] You 're a woman who 's just met James Bond ( you can explain how ) , describe what he 's like in bed .

Bond. James Bond. 
 
 That's how he introduced himself. It seemed a bit silly to me at first, but I had to admit it had a certain mysterious charm to it. The same sort of charm seemed to hang around the man himself like a cloud, along with a sort of primal darkness. I could see in his eyes that he had killed before. Many times. 
 
 We met in a bar in Tangiers. I was on my honeymoon, having just married the sweetest man in the world. My husband unfortunately had to work while we vacationed, but I did n't begrudge him that. I could n't fairly expect to come first all the time, even when it seemed important to me. Besides, we were taking four months to ourselves. A day here and there was nothing unreasonable. 
 
 I was listening to the noises drift in from the streets as I sat stirring a martini when he first sidled up next to me. I do n't think he even realized I was there until I smiled at him. When I did I saw his face shift from indifference to something else. Something I'd been seeing in men's faces since I first started going through puberty. I knew what it was when I saw it. Pure animal lust. 
 
 Despite myself I felt a pulse of electricity surge through me when I saw that look on his face. His eyes grey and cold as steel, jaw chiseled from marble, scars of a violent life somehow ugly by themselves but enhancing on the whole. It was a strong face on a strong man. And the most primitive parts of me wanted him instantly. 
 
 It took three hours before those parts got what they wanted. Only three hours and one drink. I ca n't explain what it was about him, but I wanted him. I needed him. My body ached for him. And I could see he wanted me. I could feel he wanted me. I could practically smell his desire. 
 
 And yet, he resisted at first. Ever the gentleman in the surface, he made just enough of a show of refusal to say at least he tried. But when he gave in, he gave in fully and without hesitation. 
 
 He took me with grace I would not have expected from such a grizzled frame. His hands were strong but skilled. They searched my body and uncovered every spot of pleasure that existed, ones even I did n't know about until that night. 
 
 His stumble, course and soft at the same time, prickled and caressed my neck as he bit almost savagely at my neck and shoulders. 
 
 And there was anger in him as he began to know me. Not at himself or me. But a general anger, a hatred of life. It added to his thirst for me, this anger at life and frustration of it's fleeting pleasures. He turned utterly primal. Aggressive. As he took me again and again, I knew I never wanted any man but him.
