He patted Agnes’s hand, still clutching the letter, and caressed it. They looked at each other for a long moment. They rose at the same time. He nudged her on the side of her neck. She ran her hands through his hair, stroking his jaw. Whether driven by acceptance of defeat, an instinctive revulsion to being alone, or desperate insanity, he still felt an electric jolt from her fuzzy softness – and wanted her body, against his better judgment.
“Agnes, my lover. This is the only thing we both want from each other.”
He was becoming aroused, feeling that familiar hardness between his legs. Norman placed his hand between her legs and discovered she was aroused, too.
“Norman Balmoral,” Agnes said, giving him a devious look, “stand still.”
She fell to her knees, unclasped his belt, and pulled his pants down. He stood directly in front of her, fully erect. He moaned when she took him inside her mouth. He removed his shirt and began thrusting inside her mouth.
He was going to come too soon. Suddenly he pulled away from her mouth. “Not so fast. You always wanted us to do it on the kitchen table. Now’s your chance.”
When they were finished, their clothes scattered on the floor beside them, they drank a bottle of wine and scavenged through the remains of their dinner. With disregard for the mess in the kitchen, he looked outside of himselfr at the scene in front of them – Agnes and Norman Balmoral, ending their marriage with intercourse on the kitchen table. Was there a better way to end a marriage? Agnes began stroking Norman’s crotch once again. He became engorged. Norman led her upstairs to the bedroom for an intense, uninhibited night. He wanted it to be their last.
No comments:
Post a Comment