Chapter One

In

Chapter Two

Lips joined, tasting her, their bodies meshed together in an intricate web of flesh.  Almost two years had passed, and he yet again found himself in a position he thought impossible.  Not too long ago, he had detested her, the very idea of even touching her was repulsive.  Now they were involved in intimate of acts.  It is funny how alcohol can just wash away any and all inhibitions as bathing would filth.

He drove into her, head tilted back against the pillow beneath, a hissing moan slipped from her parted lips.  As intoxicated as they both were, at least there was some semblance of common sense.  A massive fuck-fest the likes of one from their past would've been irresponsible to say the least.  Ben, her adopted son, was sleeping comfortable and unaware.  If he was going to stay that way, they were going to have to be discreet.

Her face inches from is own, the heavy scent of alcohol washing over each other, refreshed with every exhalation of breath.  Her head turned to the side, the ecstasy flowing between them growing in volume from her lips, silenced by a hand clamped over her mouth.  Her eyes looked into his, glazed over with pleasure.  He probably had the same look, but was on the inside looking out.  At least the sound was muffled by the fleshy barrier of his hand.  The last thing the kid needed was to wake up in the middle of the night and walking in on the spectacle.

She really sucked at being a lesbian, or maybe it was just him that turned her around to the cock-side.  Then again, who was the man who married his sister to throw stones at someone's sexuality?  When they first met, she would always tell him that sexuality was fluid, all you had to do was go with the flow.  He just always had a way of being the prime example of just how fluid hers really was.

His eyes shot open with a start.  The glowing red digits of the digital alarm clock glared at him.  The twin circles of zeros stare as the eyes of a beast would from a pit of darkness.  How the hell he managed to what up on the hour on the spot like that, he could not figure out, but it had become something of a habit for him.  He preferred patterns and habit most of the time.  They gave sense and form to chaos, making the most arduous tasks simple with the repetition of routine.  The were, however, drawbacks, like waking up at five in the god damned morning.

Chapter Three

said