Since San Alfonso, their relationship had deteriorated like a biscuit in a cup of hot tea. It was bitter tea, like someone had accidentally put some tan bark in it, and it definitely didn’t have any sugar in it.
“You’re…” said Brunden, but he didn’t finish the sentence.
“I think we need to talk,” said Dierdre. She had an earnest look on her face. It aroused Brunden. His obelisk firmed, becoming a noble flesh statue.
“I think we need to make love,” Brunden said.
And they did. Again.
Brunden pumped Dierdre as if she was a receptacle containing crude oil and he was a greedy Texan with a groin siphon.Read More