The drive was long, as it always was. I would wake up hours early and drive all the miles necessary to work. The work was its own reward and the miles traveled never mattered to me.My apartment wasn't much to look at, I prioritized practicality over comfort so it was one of those apartments where the kitchen and the bedroom are the same thing and the only other room is the bathroom. Its basically the real estate version of canckles. I had a small bed and a drawing desk right next to it with a box of art books and novels. A poor man's work studio.I didn't bother putting away the stuff in my box and just dropped on the welcome mat and headed straight to my bed. I plopped on to the so hard I thought I might wake the downstairs neighbor but thankfully their was only silence.As I laid I looked to my desk and noticed one of my notebooks just sitting there. It wasn't my only notebook just the most recent I've begun writing and drawing in. I've had countless notebooks, even before I began. Kissing her mouth, subsuming her lips, his tongue is plentiful, and it calms her.Close to orgasm, the terror of those depths reasserts itself. Then such lucid images, like sheet lightning illuminating her mind. No time to process, to analyse, realise. Those entities and how they had led and guided her home. It was no dream.He erupts into her, his orgasm exploding at her core. This will end badly: she will be ruptured, body and soul. Her sanity takes refuge in an orgasm of her own. And then she is plummeting from the apex of bliss to the darkness of unknowing. The next morning, winter sun streams through the one narrow, glazed aperture set high in the wall, a beam of light where motes play chase. Adam is up and about. A large sooty kettle hangs from some hook fixed inside the chimney. When she stirs, he asks her, "Did you sleep well?" "Thanks to you," she says, a smile of deep pleasure brightening her eyes. She sits up, sees the embarrassment her bare breasts cause him."Why don't you.
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