"Did you like it?" I asked."Yes," Wendy said. "But I like fucking you more."I didn't need to hear any more about Liz. I didn't risk asking how it ende.... I didn't want to change the mood. The story had served its purpose. We were both turned on and fucking on my couch."I can't get enough of you, Betty," she said. "I can't wait to be with you. I have to wait so long. It kills me."Her thumb expertly pushed my clit. Her fingers pounded in and out of my cunt. I moaned and gasped. My hips bucked. At first she thought that wouldn't matter. She thought, who cares if the accent and pronunciation is a little different than Parisian?Unfortunately, it mattered a lot in poetry. That little prick, Edward. Damn, she kept associating young with small. The kid was certainly bigger than she was, and that even made her mad. He could recite poetry from memory, and it all flowed together in perfect rhyme. When she tried it, disjointed was the description that came to mind. She had to give him a little. More

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