He stopped at a white skinned birch and looked up at it’s narrow branches, at it’s autumn finery now long spent, waiting for the next storm to bri...g an end. He reached out and placed his hand on the tree, feeling it’s strength, his sorrow like the coolness of the tree’s skin. He turned and reached out to the house on the hill, to the amber-hued grief so casually concealed behind lace-curtained windows, and he looked at the weathered shingles, so at home in this landscape. Worn out and cold —. He loved the noise. It was music to his ears, something Trish had severely lacked. She bent down over him, still riding his cock, and pressed her lips to his, kissing him passionately. He felt a real spark there, something he hadn’t felt often, if at all. It was a fire, and it kept eating at him, kept him wanting more of her. Wanting her in every way. She leaned back up and slammed down harder on his cock, her ass slapping against his balls, as she slid all the way up and then back down with as. More

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