I was incredibly aroused. Slipping my fingers between my legs, they came up soaking wet. This only added to my confusion. Why was I so aroused? Was it...the memory of the incredible orgasm Renaud had given me with his fingers and tongue? Or something deeper, more animalistic, a base emotion in me that had been present but hidden for so very long?My immediate problem were the cold tiles of the floor. Where my body touched them was starting to be painful so I moved. But I never strayed far from the. He did what she wanted, tentatively, but it was still no good. Passion can’t be faked, and Jackson was always a conscientious lover but never a passionate one. She thought she might have orgasmed—at least she experienced what she had always thought was an orgasm up until her encounter in the motel—but no sooner had he finished on top of her than she wanted him gone so she could use her memories and her hand to give herself what Jackson couldn’t. She made some transparent excuse to get him out. More

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