Poor Jack, used to emptying his balls in a willing girl four or five times a day was completely unhappy. And he couldn't even sneak off and get his ro...ks off because every errand his mother sent him on involved Jill going too. She was his watchdog. Other boys might have been mad that their sister ratted them out, but Jack loved his sister Jill and, in truth, he hadn't been spending much time working lately. He trudged into the house with a barrel of soap on his shoulder, a task that should have. The years had been kind to Suze, Lyla’s old friend, Michael acknowledged. A lean, beautiful face with cheek bones, pert breasts, long brown legs. Lyla — well, she was much more lovely now than the night she’d made him spill his coke. Yet her face bore the bruises of worrying, and perhaps something more. Was it the image he knew from his own reflection, the hairline cracks of disappointment? Or even of repression? If so, my God, of what? She’d won her man, the life she wanted, the career. A. More

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