Ready is the wrong word. I ache for her. My mouth waters. My cock hardens and stands as rigid as my muscles are taut for the want of her. In short, I ...eed. I need to fuck her. I move inside her, each stroke grinding her against the stone. Caught between a rock and my hard place. ‘A cock and a hard place?’ ‘Either.’ She laughs. I laugh. I don’t stop. Can’t stop. Won’t stop fucking her. She arches into me, my lips finding her bared neck. I move faster, harder, the sound of my ins and outs. There was something in his posture, his voice... it wasn't right. Not right for this son. And she found it frightening, and maybe a little surprisingly infuriating as she suddenly grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "He's not coming back, do you hear me, Oliver? He's not!" Mary released him when she saw his eyes widen, that familiar uncertainty in them that she often saw cross Oliver's face, and she forced herself to calm down as she smoothed the reddened spot on the side of his. More

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