Dmitry Rus. To play, to live. Book 1. Breakdown (№ 222432)

Saying goodbye to the guys and smiling plain old jokes on the topic of marital debt, picked up the returning elf in his arms and carried her to the room. Behind came the applause. The elf buried his nose to my jacket and blushed slightly. At the door put girl to her feet and lightly pushed inside.
- Oh, what's that?! - opened the eyes of the elf.
In the intimate dim light of the room shimmered red, green, and blue flame torches of true flame. The floor and the bed was strewn with flowers, and on the table stood a large basin, barely audible Naivasha sad song.
With a view of a real guide I began to indicate with his hands.
- Torches of True Flame, NKVD had them in my little hands didn't tear off. Wildflowers, collection of Romantic Mood, my recipe. And finally, the Singing Shell from the island of the Sirens. You may have heard that male sirens absolutely brainless, and shell have learned how to copy the mating song of the females, luring the foolish men fish and fruit, in the form of tokens to the ladies. They say that the siren song of marriage acts on the subconscious in the most mysterious way, stimulating sexual pleasure.
The eyes of the elves shone in the firelight, his nostrils greedily swollen, and a sharp tongue licked her bright lips. One elusive, accessible only to the women's movement, and the dress slid to her feet.