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Summary
Francis ground his hips in lazy circles against mine. I couldn't help but wonder how many men he'd snuck into his and Priscilla's house while Priscilla was asleep, using his mouth to muffle the sounds of his paramour on the sofa as his wife was unaware in the bedroom. If he typically went to their house instead, offering flimsy excuses to Priscilla over the phone as he sank to his knees before his lay of the night.
"Cubitum eamus?” I asked.
He turned maroon, a color I'd never seen him go. "Yes.”