We sat at the kitchen table to drink it.We sat, looking at each other. Well, I couldn’t look at her directly, but I felt her eyes on me. I wished we still had our connection and that I could have an idea of what was going through her mind. But I didn’t trust myself to be the first one to talk.“What happened?” she finally asked.“When we made love, that last time and I didn’t feel the connection, I kind of freaked out, I guess.”“It scared me as well! I told you that when we finished making love. I was afraid that if we lost the connection, that would be the end of us!”“I know,” I sighed. “That’s why I left.”“You did. You ran away! You left me there, alone! Was that the right way to handle it? Was not talking to me for a week the right thing to do? Was fucking every girl you could lay your hands on helpful? Was trashing your relationship with Pete and Melanie necessary?” she asked angrily.“No, Jennifer,” I said softly, “it wasn’t. You left out having a huge fight with Stephanie and. The dress was from Paris — she remembered the expensive little designer shop in the Marais where John had bought it for her. She thought back to how she had turned left and right in the reflection of the mirror. She had blushed when he said it was a present.The dark man scowled — the streetlamp carved ugly canyons into his face. He pushed her hesitant hand aside and ripped the silk all the way down until buttons flew and her bare, sticky thighs caught the breeze. It made her shiver. She squealed as he slapped her exposed tits — his nails scratching the flesh. She felt the stubbles of his chin on her tender throat. His teeth tore at her nipple. Her cheekbone bruised where he hit her. She doubled up and almost vomited as his fist pounded into the messy weakness of her vagina."Now move!" he said. He pushed her into the car and slammed the door shut. She fumbled with the keys. His fist pounded on the roof. "Go!" he growled. The clutch protested. Then the small blue car drove off into the.
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